


A Detective's Work

by dsousa



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Canon Divergent, F/F, Maggie POV, Project Cadmus, Undercover Maggie, third person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-02-19 15:58:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 51,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13127001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsousa/pseuds/dsousa
Summary: Post 3x05. Maggie's left in a limbo. A lifetime of firsts had been reduced toonefirst: an almost marriage. Throwing herself into work, she recklessly takes on an undercover assignment to infiltrate Cadmus' ranks in order to find an FBI mole. But in order to do so, she must protect and serve at any cost--even if it means alienating herself from the woman she loves.





	1. Into Motion

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for all your feedback, and to my beta-reader for proofreading :]

**AUGUST 28, 2018**

_BOOM_.

The abruptness at which Maggie launched the getaway vehicle into something—something _steely_ —was a force nobody at the back of the van could seem to handle. Coughing amidst the smoke, her hands flailed about in a vain attempt to get the airbag away from her face. She was pretty sure something on her face was bleeding because it was dripping down her chin and smearing against the back of her palm. Worse, her head felt like it wouldn’t stop spinning.

Right at the back she heard someone retch. And then two burly guys vomited on the floor of the van behind her. The stench alone was enough to make her dry-heave, but she was far too disorientated by the force of the impact to even think about it.

Bleary vision quickly fading, her eyes focused on the smashed windscreen in front of her. There were voices yelling for no movement behind the vehicle—as if Maggie could get away anyway. And she had a pretty fucking good idea who stopped the vehicle.

“Gotta be shitting me,” she groaned, shifting so she could undo her seatbelt. She glanced quickly in the rear view mirror, mildly horrified to see her face smothered with blood, and even more horrified to see agents approaching from the back.

DEO agents.

“Hey, Smithson,” one of the masked men at the back grunted, thumping at the back of her seat. Maggie winced. “Get this thing going.”

“Would if I could,” Maggie grunted.

“We’re gonna have our asses handed to us if we come back empty-handed. No aliens, no cash.”

“I think,” Maggie said slowly, as Supergirl—oh, for _fuck’s sake_ —hovered into view, her hands resting self-righteously on her hips. Fucking vigilante justice. There was a brief crinkle in her brow as she attempted to look intimidating—it had never really worked on Kara—before it all melded into genuine shock. “We’re about to get _our_ asses handed to us.”

“Yeah, you stay safe with your side-arm,” douchebag said, “We’ve got the big guns at the back.”

“Trust me,” Maggie muttered. “They got bigger.”

It happened in a flash. One moment it’s Alex Danvers from the back, voice yelling “ _go, go, go_!” and then Kara blasted through the windscreen, yanking Maggie up into the air at a criminal speed by the scruff of her leather jacket. She thanked god she spent her actual paycheck on legit leather and not the cheap stuff, otherwise she was pretty sure Kara would’ve ripped the jacket off her and sent her sprawling to her horrible freefall death.

“ _Shitting me_!” Maggie yelled again, ignoring Kara’s pleased huff of derision. She couldn’t help but feel like Kara was getting some enjoyment out of this, because her puny human weight was nothing compared to the infrastructure she could seemingly so easily throw about. She couldn’t help it, though. She’d been a cop for years now, but like nothing had trained her for anti-gravity guns, nothing had trained her for flying at Supergirl speed, either.

She thought, for a moment, she’d dare look down. But they blazed by the skyline so fast that the moment she opened her eyes and saw National City whizzing beneath them, the more she was tempted to vomit.

“Do me a favour,” Kara yelled, and it was a miracle Maggie could even hear her as they flew over the city. _This. Is. Crazy._ “Hold onto me!”

“I just—“ Hold onto _what_ , exactly? Awkwardly, Maggie wrapped her arms as tightly as she could around Kara’s waist. She did not comment on the fact that Kara’s abs felt like they were made literally out of steel. She did not comment on the fact that Kara had knowingly saved her from a confrontation she wasn’t quite ready to have. She did not comment, apart from the occasional ‘ _brrrr_ ’, that it was getting substantially colder. By the time she’d blinked, she was sure they were in Alaska.

Maggie hardly had the time to appreciate the scenery _and_ think of a thousand questions when Supergirl, rather purposefully she felt, unceremoniously dumped her on the slushy ice. From about six feet up. Maggie grunted, her mouth so cold she could barely curse.

“You okay there?” Supergirl— _not_ Kara—or maybe both this time, because Kara can be a douche, called over, “Need any help?”

 _I wouldn’t have_ , Maggie wanted her mouth to say, settling for a heavily displeased side-glance, _if you hadn’t thrown me down on the floor and then gracefully landed like a ballerina two feet away from me_.

Instead, her feet jerked into motion and she barely made it up from the ground before she’d crooked over, vomiting her breakfast. And it had been a _big_ breakfast since Big Louis had decided this was going to be their Big Heist. Maggie internally groaned, then belched, then vomited again, and wondered how the other boys from the kidnapping ring had been post-Alex Danvers. Miserably, she steadied herself and wiped her mouth. Nothing compared to be stranded in Alaska with your ex-girlfriend’s sister, she supposed.

“Water?” Kara offered, and Maggie nodded tiredly. Her head was still spinning. “There’s a lake—”

“You are not dunking me in a lake.”

“I’ve got mouthwash.” Maggie thought it was a joke until Kara legitimately pulled out a miniature bottle of Listerine from nowhere, beaming smile on her face. There was something missing in the smile; it didn’t quite reach her eyes. The more disturbing thing was: Kara Danvers didn’t really fake-smile. Begrudgingly, Maggie gargled the Listerine in her mouth and spat it back out. She eyed her watch. It’d been near a half-hour, so she was quite sure Alex had already finished questioning (or, well, punching) the guys in her truck. She wondered why Kara was holding back. She’d seen Kara act out for the sake of her sister. Grimly, she didn’t think she was immune from that treatment.

“There’s no footage of you as the van driver,” Kara said casually. “As of now, only you and I know.”

“Okay,” Maggie said slowly. Oh _God_. Kara had brought her here to be killed off—

“There was one camera that caught the blurry image of your face but I had Winn hack into it and delete the footage.”

“O...kay...”

“And you have my word I won’t tell Alex or the rest of the team.”

This was getting more and more confusing. She was not entirely sure what was going on, or why Kara was still maintaining that ridiculous power-pose while feeding her _good_ news. The crinkle of her brow had vanished, meaning she was either not baffled anymore or her brow muscles had fatigued. Maggie took a deep breath and rested her hands on her knees, uncertain of whether she’d puke again. She was highly aware she was due a flight _back_ to National City with Supergirl, and the more she thought about it, the more she sort of wanted to just die out here in the ice.

But this was progress. Supergirl studied her for a moment, and took a non-threatening step forwards. Maybe—maybe this is the way of Kryptonian-bonding—

And _then_ she found herself yanked off the ground, Supergirl’s steel-strong grip on the lapel of her leather jacket as Maggie’s feet instinctively kicked out from underneath her. _Oh shit_ , she thought again, when she saw Supergirl’s brow crease _again_ , and oh god, she was going to die in some ice-covered wasteland...

“So you better start talking,” Supergirl said. It’s flat but it was not even scary. Maggie wasn’t sure she was _capable_ of scary unless she was shouting with a smidgen of heat vision meshed in, but knowing she was Alex’s sister _and_ a super-powered (often egomaniacal) chick made it infinitely scarier. She almost wished she hadn’t deduced she was a Danvers. “What the _hell_ are you doing running errands for Roulette? You of all people, Maggie!”

 _Ah_.

“Good question,” Maggie said, strained, and Supergirl raised her even higher. “Okay! _Okay_! Fuck! Just let me _down_!”

“Give me one good reason—”

“Don’t—use—stupid film—cliché lines on me—Danvers—” Maggie grimaced.

“No, this time it’s appropriate. _One_ reason—”

“I can’t tell—you—if—I’m—choking—”

Without warning, Supergirl loosened her grip and again, Maggie’s face smushed against the snow. Groaning, she picked herself up—because clearly the superhero did not aid befallen cops—and she sighed heavily. “It’s freezing,” Maggie complained.

“I know. Make it fast.”

“Alright—but I want to lay out some terms first.”

“You think I’m gonna bargain with a cop turned dirty, working for—”

“ _Yes_. And if you shut the fuck up, here’s why.”

 

* * *

 

**MARCH 28, 2018**

“Sawyer. Hey, Sawyer. _Sawyer_.” Maggie ducked as her desk—and crime scene—partner Belle Balewa chucked a screwed-up paper-ball at her. She frowned. Balewa had been her first partner in _years_ , but if Balewa had taught her anything, it was that she did work better as part of a two-man (well, two-woman) team. Or maybe Alex had taught her that. She sighed.

These days, she didn’t think about it that much. The break-up had been over a month ago, and Balewa assigned to her only shortly after she’d taken a week’s leave of absence. It hadn’t and still didn’t feel like enough. But Balewa was kind, pretty and friendly—and married with two kids. And she was just Maggie’s work type. She knew nothing about Balewa’s family apart from her husband and her kids’ names, and that was it.

“I know you’re a hotshot alien gunslinger,” Balewa had said to her in the break room on the second day of their partnership, “But we’re the same rank, so if you ever wanna share a bottle of scotch each and dish on our inner torment, deal. And if you would rather not suffer the next-day diarrhoea and keep it purely work-orientated, that’s kinda—” She mimed drumming for about thirty seconds, sang some lyrics—“ _just like heaven_.”

One pet peeve: Balewa liked singing.

Still, Maggie liked her. Balewa enjoyed talking about how Thanksgiving was shit, Christmas was shit, Valentine’s Day was shit, St. Patrick’s day was shit—but Nigerian food, on the other hand, cooked by her mama and proof-tasted by her two girls, was _the_ shit. The second week of their partnership involved a stakeout outside the world’s most boring, inactive gym for a steroid bust, and Balewa had simply walked across the street to a food truck and returned with some deep-fried battered yams and meat skewers.

“Suya,” Balewa had corrected her sternly.

“We need more steroid busts on this gym.” Maggie ignored her as her mouth savoured the flavours. “Oh my God. I feel like you spiked these with fairy dust.”

“Seems suitable,” Balewa grinned, and Maggie _knew_ pet peeve #2 was coming up next, “to get some food-on-steroids for a steroid bust—”

“Anyone ever told you your jokes are terrible?”

“Yeah. You. Oh crap, here’s our perp.”

“But the yams—”

“ _Jesus_ , I dunno how you worked alone.”

They both scrambled out of the car, food spilling all over their dashboard and seats. They’d smirked as their Captain scolded them for the mess they’d left in the car until Balewa had offered her a spare skewer they’d retrieved near the gas pedal and all had been forgiven. Smirks exchanged, Maggie felt comfortable again in the NCPD.

Despite the new entertainment and friendship Balewa offered, Maggie knew something was still missing. For the first couple of days, Balewa had often asked her why she scowled so heavily at kids playing innocently in the park (to which she received no answer). But it wasn’t _kids_. It was the fact that every night she rolled over in bed to sling her arm over Alex’s lithe body, her hand hit the smooth coldness of the bed-sheet. Every morning she made too much coffee and instead of opening letters by the window, the sun filtering through gloriously, with playful chit-chat hovering over Maggie’s double-toasted bagel, she instead read the morning newspaper and slurped on her coffee just for some noise.

And it wasn’t just Alex. She missed the DEO. Friends at the NCPD would always be friends at the NCPD but she missed Winn’s hapless nerdiness and his tendency to bring doughnuts in because he’d always save one for her while Kara demolished the entire box. She missed J’onn and his steady wisdom, his never-ending encouragement and strong leadership. Captain Wong at the precinct was similar—just not quite J’onn. She even missed Mon-el, though she still owed him some punches to the face whenever he inevitably returned from space and his strangely attractive evil mother for his cheery, Supergirl brown-nosing “ _who needs cops anyway_?” and nearly everything else he used to say. There was Eliza, another mother figure lost. And there were the always gnarly, twisted cases she and Alex would bust with a sense of gung-ho because frankly, they were _badass_.

“Sawyer!”

“Shut _up_ , Balewa, or I’ll punch you in the throat—”

A voice cleared her throat by an office right across the bullpen, and Maggie froze. Her eyes darted over to Balewa, a mouth full of kale (she was on some unnecessary diet), who had her hands in the air.

“Captain,” she said robotically, shooting up from her seat. “Er...”

“Quit daydreaming. My office. Now.”

Frowning, Maggie rolled her chair back to its original position. Balewa could only shrug—she definitely didn’t know by the looks of it—and so Maggie followed Wong silently into his office. She’d only been in here a few times. The most memorable had been when she’d really, fully returned to the force and Wong had interrogated her so hard about everything that she was eventually driven to lie and say she’d only worked about three cases with the DEO (or the FBI, so she’d said); she had not met Supergirl; she had fallen ‘off-the-rails’ ever since her father showed up. The sympathy card she played seemed to work.

“Shut the door behind you,” Wong said. Maggie did so. “And the blinds and windows.”

“Well, surely just the windows—”

“You know, in NCPD applications, we never test lip-reading ability,” Wong said. “Close them.”

She had no answer for that.

Dutifully, she did so in awkward silence. Wong made no effort to help her, and when she was finally done, Wong motioned for her to sit. Again, in silence, Maggie followed out his orders.

“When you worked the Bureau’s case on Roulette, you were forced to release her, no?”

“You know that answer, ma’am,” Maggie said stiffly. “Orders came from you.”

“Yes, and those orders I gave came from higher-ups too.”

“Okay.”

“The FBI believes they have a mole.” Wong said it so offhandedly that she may as well have been stating his favourite breakfast cereal. That was if he consumed anything artificial. He leant forwards, resting his elbows on the desk. “What exactly did Roulette say to you when you released her? I believe you have an eyewitness in one—” He flicked through a file, and squinted, “—Federal Agent Danvers?”

“Uhhhhhh—yes...”

“She said ‘ _uhhhh_ ’—”

“No,” Maggie said quickly. Her cheeks burned. “Agent Danvers asked why I was releasing her. All Roulette said to us, as I recall, was that she had friends in higher places.”

“Yes, yes. You write that here in your report.”

“Well, I wanted to be thorough—”

“Yes, yes. And upon release, she re-emerged, this time committing the same felony on a, uh, different planet.”

“It’s—”

“See, friends in higher places don’t necessarily mean within law enforcement or national security,” Wong said. Maggie shifted closer to the desk so Wong wouldn’t see her grip move from her kneecap to her sidearm. She wasn’t sure _why_. “What I’ve always found so ridiculous—apart from that _myth_ that speaks of an Alien SAS of sorts—” Maggie coughed loudly. _If I ever see Winn again, I’ll tell him my Captain said he was part of the Alien SAS_. “Is that in a city of aliens, post-alien amnesty, with a fucking flying, bulletproof _Supergirl_ hovering over our police force combating giant green monsters or whatever the hell you want on the news week-by-week...what I’ve found ridiculous is why there isn’t a bigger alien protection taskforce especially if you are registered on the amnesty list.”

“Oh.” Maggie couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice.

Wong raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I...Didn’t realise you had such a strong pro-alien stance, sir.”

“I don’t. I have a strong anti-crime stance, as per my job. By law we do not discriminate, and by sheer lack of being a jerk, I do not discriminate. And you didn’t let me finish.”

“Well, pardon my understanding, but it sounded like you want to ask for our division’s expansion, or—”

“Expansion won’t solve the FBI’s suspicions of a mole, and it certainly won’t solve Roulette’s routine alien kidnappings, the elite underground or extraterrestrial alien fight clubs, and it _definitely_ will not solve Project Cadmus, which will likely be a third major electoral party alongside the Democrats and Republicans given a few years.”

“I...Right...” Wong really hadn’t told this in a linear manner. “So we’re basically fucked? Er, ma’am?”

“Up the anus. But...” Wong stood up and paced the room. Maggie hid her shudder at the phrase. Ugh. “Cadmus and Roulette want the same thing—almost. They’re both definitively anti-alien, though one seeks to destroy and one seeks to profit. However, where Roulette is rich, Cadmus is clad in gold. You saw those weapons, didn’t you, chopping up Lena Luthor’s gala all that while back?”

“Yes.”

“If it was bought, it’d be millions of dollars. If made, it’s the same case: millions of dollars, if not billions. We’ve got to factor in research, development, testing and finally manufacturing. If Cadmus can mass-manufacture these weapons, we’ll have no more ET’s to rescue from the back of SUVs.”

“A bit offensive, sir.”

“Yes, yes.” Wong waved it off. “Roulette’s rich but if we bust her source—or sources—wherever they may be placed, she’s cut off. But she likely knows that because the FBI hasn’t exactly been discreet in their organisational investigation. If the mole’s within the Bureau, she’ll know about it and she will take the necessary precautions.”

“Which are?”

“I feel like I’ve done a lot of talking, Sawyer. You’re the alien-friendly detective. Talk to me.”

“Okay...” Maggie scratched the back of her head. If Roulette had been arrested successfully once, via a clumsily-done job by Alex and her, then she wasn’t immune from investigation. The mole—if there was one—within the FBI had done his or her job and sent orders down for her release.

If the FBI’s mole had relayed it back to her... “She needs an ally,” Maggie said slowly. She internally cursed herself for speaking before thinking. “She...She surrounds herself with bodyguards and whatnot but _she_ single-handedly ran that operation. If the FBI bust out the mole, nothing’s stopping us from finding her like we found her last time—and nobody’s coming to bail her out.”

“A lone wolf,” Wong supplied.

“Right.” _Sounds depressingly like me._ “Thing is, Captain, she’s so unabashedly anti-alien that she doesn’t care to hide it. Sure, she needs them to profiteer off, but if she didn’t have her posse of bodyguards around her at all times, it’s only time someone pulls off a JFK on her. No offence to JFK,” she added quickly.

“Mm. Take it back a few steps, Sawyer. Those bodyguards: are they human or alien?”

“Last I saw, human.”

“Were they equipped with any Cadmus-like weapons?”

“No.”

“So, theoretically, if we got a location on Roulette, Supergirl could pick her up and dump her in a lake?”

“I...I mean, I doubt she’s that morally dirty, sir,” Maggie laughed, trying to think of Kara Danvers, hiding behind her glasses, as the one to mercilessly execute Roulette by _dumping her in a river_. “Er, but yes, _theoretically_. Roulette’s connections are...human. I think. Her puppets are the aliens. Her guests—her elite guests—are human. Roulette’s always been about utilising aliens by reincarnating some sort of Roman gladiator ring and all the rich folk of the city are falling stupidly—”

“Don’t slide off-track. Go back to FBI.”

Maggie had never been one for patience. In an interrogation situation or a hostage situation where lives were at risk, patience was her bitch. But in hypothesising with her Captain behind closed doors (and blinds and windows), she didn’t see the point when it became clear the Captain already knew all the answers. Or most of them, at least. Still—she didn’t miss the (rarer now) gawking sessions in the morning briefs. She knew she wasn’t _fully_ back, despite Balewa making her feel like it. She could still remember how tight she’d fastened Roulette’s handcuffs out of sheer pettiness when she heard the news she needed to release her. How she could see the red marks indented on her dainty wrists, and how it left a sick sense of satisfaction sitting heavy in her chest. She _would_ catch Roulette. But the Captain was unblinking, and—what did the FBI matter in this anymore? If Roulette lost her connection, then they’d just go in and arrest her again in some other place or planet. Maybe a little out of their jurisdiction, but...

“She said _making_ ,” Maggie said quickly. “ _Making_ friends—friends plural—in higher places.”

“If she can’t traffic aliens for the sake of her fight clubs—”

“She can traffic them for Cadmus’ experiments,” Maggie finished.

“In return, she would get payment likely in gold by the block, some superweapons for protection, and additional immunity Cadmus would provide.”

“And that bitch Lillian Luthor.”

“I’m so glad we’re off-the-record,” Wong said wryly. “But having said that, this is all just theoretical, right?”

“Right...” Maggie swallowed hard. Wong was impossible to read. She was as stoic as a doorknob, and the unwavering gaze she got from her Captain was impossible to decipher. Was she supposed to agree or not? Still, the prospect of Roulette and Lillian Luthor joining forces was the worst nightmare imaginable. And she couldn’t shake off how realistic the idea was. “But, I mean, with the weapons, the experimented aliens or humans or alien-humans, and...and—well—” _I hate saying this, I hate saying this, I hate saying this,_ “Doesn’t that sound like a job for Supergirl?”

“Probably,” Wong said. “If Kryptonians were active within the FBI or if Roulette’s workers were, well, you get the picture.”

“So if it’s all theoretical, then what? We’ve just...so we’ve come up with a theory. So?”

Wong put a finger to his lips. Maggie raised her eyebrows. Damn, this man was paranoid her office was bugged. Slowly, he slipped a piece of folded paper across the desk. “Don’t open it until you’re out of here. And follow the instructions.”

 

* * *

 

“Instructions my ass,” Maggie had muttered as she dumped her laptop case on her couch. It was some nondescript address, marked with a time. Like every cop movie she’d ever seen, the time stated was midnight. And like every cop movie she’d ever seen, they’d probably get followed. She sighed, her mind still reeling from Wong’s surprising awareness of Cadmus and Roulette’s activities (though they hadn’t exactly been subtle) and curiosity ebbing in. What exactly did Wong want from her? She had no further information on either subject.

Feeling a little paranoid, she strapped on her Kevlar vest underneath her shirt anyway. Shady stuff always went down at midnight, and she was _not_ dying like a _Die Hard_ extra. She patted her vest. Not a lesbian one, anyway.

So here Detective Maggie Sawyer was at midnight, in the middle of a multi-storey parking lot. It struck her then that this particular parking lot had eleven levels, and there was not even a hint on the neatly-folded piece of paper that indicated which floor she should be on. She walked briskly, seeing the breath fog up in front of her with every step she took. She would not wait on ground level. That seemed too risky for whatever off-the-books thing was bound to happen. Maggie tried not to think of further clichés—like some sort of massive drug deal in the middle of the night. _I’m starring in my own movie_ , she thought.

 _Okay, think like a cop. Not ground level. Not the top level if these morally-grey sounding sons of bitches need sniper avoidance. Not by the wall-less edges, then, as well._ Maggie chewed her bottom lip and trudged slowly up each level. If Wong wasn’t going to give her a heads-up, then she was sure she and her company would not mind the delay. Instead of pacing up and down, she tried to make passing checks at any suspicious-looking cars—both scouting for safety and seeing if there were any familiar vehicles parked there. She doubted she’d hit level seven and be greeted by a full assembly of mobsters or CIA agents or heck, even Supergirl herself, in the middle of the driving lanes.

Level nine ( _nine,_ she thought to herself, mildly irritated, _couldn’t have just settled for level four? Perfectly mundane, mid-level, low risk..._ ) was her jackpot. As she rose slowly up each level, the density of the cars thinned out. The ground level was still packed by overnight parkers, but level nine was far from empty, though sparse enough for—well—Maggie cursed herself. _For shoot-outs and stuff_. _Shut up, brain_. Maggie walked cautiously as she had done for the last nine levels, zigzagging between cars.

The thing about parking lots in the middle of the night was that they were pinpoint silent. So it didn’t exactly make her a bat to hear the low thrumming of an engine still running. She slowed her walk ever so slightly, her eyes narrowing as she scoured the floor. Yanking her gun from her holster, she crept nearer and nearer to the quiet rumbling of the engine, her grip slightly slackening from sweat. Step by step, she inched towards either her likely death or something else entirely (the latter was so uncertain she really was considering what her last words would be) and came to a halt.

Stock-still, she stood next to the side of a Land Rover, right at the back. It was parked opposite the car she’d silently marked, with its bonnet facing away from her, one space to the left. Technically it was the best position and a smidgen of luck. It meant the driver couldn’t see her and certainly could not turn on the lights to check. It also meant the Land Rover was shielding her from view with its fat backside.

The car she’d marked was not doing much for her ‘ _I don’t want this encounter to be a movie scene_ ’. It was a black SUV, because _of course it was_. She would’ve eye-rolled if she wasn’t breathing so hard. Carefully, she slid the petrol cap off the Land Rover, silently apologising to its owner, and cut it free using the Swiss Army knife she’d tucked away in her jacket. Swallowing hard, she aimed the gun at the nearest of the SUV’s backseat doors and threw the petrol cap at the window.

Nothing.

Maggie frowned. What kind of idiot would leave their keys in the car and their engine running overnight? Unless— _oh shit, if it’s just some randomer’s_ —

The door opened, too quickly for Maggie’s liking. “Hands where I can see them,” she said firmly as she stepped into sight. She was quite sure she was at a bigger risk of being shot than whoever was inside. “ _Hands_!”

“Sawyer,” came Wong’s disgruntled voice. “Get in the fucking car.”

“You drive a Golf,” Maggie snapped, “not shady black SUVs from the cinema.”

“Get in the car _so we can talk_ ,” Wong said. “Promise we’re not going to kill you in the backseat and dump you in the river. But if you don’t get in _right now_ I will blow off your kneecaps and _drag_ you in, you stubborn asshole.”

“I—”

 _Stubborn asshole,_ she thought grumpily to herself. By the time she’d given Wong a considerable amount of side-eye, she started to appreciate the electrically heated seats. The back was a lot bigger than expected. It was almost like a black cab, in the way that there were two seats facing them as well as the seats they were occupying, and the two seats at the front. And then after thirty seconds of awkward silence, staring at the two shadowy figures in the driving and passenger seats up front, Maggie cleared her throat.

“Sorry folks,” she drawled, “I don’t speak psychic.”

It satisfied her immensely that she could _feel_ Wong’s annoyance burn through the side of her skull.

“Apologies, Detective,” the driver, a man, said. “Are you warm?”

“Erm.” This wasn’t usually how death scenes went. “Yes?”

“Yes?”

“ _Yes_.”

“Lockson,” the one in the passenger seat—another man—said stiffly. The driver—Lockson, she supposed—grunted in disapproval as Passenger Seat punched him square in the arm. Lockson mumbled something and turned up the heating slightly as both men exited the vehicle simultaneously. Within seconds they clambered into the back and sat in the seats opposite Maggie and Wong.

“Sawyer, meet Federal Agents Lockson and Hernandez,” Wong said, gesturing to both of them as they made themselves comfortable. “Mind you, perhaps they know your—”

“So what’s this about?” Maggie blurted out abruptly, eyeing the briefcases sitting comfortably on each agent’s laps. She did not want Wong to mention a fictional Federal Agent Alex Danvers just when she’d heard news of an intra-Bureau investigation of a mole.

Maggie took a good look at them. Lockson, sat to her front-right, looked as if he’d seen better days. Hernandez, however, was much younger and legitimately appeared as if he’d been out on the field. Certainly, his hulking figure meant he would re-pass the FBI’s physical exams, whereas Lockson...

“We’ve got quite a bit to discuss,” Lockson explained, opening his briefcase. “We’ll try to refrain from boring you. Three words: Cadmus. Roulette. And, if possible, Supergirl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm aware the only plotline I'm really developing is Cadmus, Roulette and Maggie actually doing some work seeing as apparently she still works in National City. Which means unfortunately I can't write Sam/Reign into the story to my regret. I hope some more insight into Maggie is enjoyable though and thanks again :]


	2. No Way Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This does sometimes skip around in time--but the first chapter with Kara finding out about Maggie happens in late August. All the stuff before is Maggie's experience within Cadmus. 
> 
> Thank you for the feedback! :)

**MAY 11th, 2018**

It had been weeks of self-annoyance, self-hatred, self-impatience—everything felt so _lonely_. And this was coming from Maggie Sawyer, who had famously always worked her cases beforehand _alone_. Yet being locked up in this dingy safehouse, the furthest thing from luxury (it made her apartment look like a five-star Hilton) frustrated her. The weeks passed by as Maggie trailed the trafficking routes, connecting string after string on her map of National City, rumpling her hair as she knocked back another bottle of scotch. One night she would punch the wall. The other night she would yell in frustration, so loud she was sure the next block could hear her.

As she tossed and turned in bed, her arm flung out, naively hoping to hold a familiar, warm body close to her. It kept her up at night knowing it would not happen. It would likely never happen. It felt like a kick in the teeth; a slap in the face.

Over weeks, it became apparent there was a pattern. The cycles of the driver’s routes were growing obvious, even though they rotated them. If she could just get Supergirl to attack the routes three to four times ago, Roulette and Lillian Luthor would surely suspect a mole and suddenly there’d be room for a driver, disgraced from the NCPD for selling drug distribution information...

Two months had passed since Agents Lockson and Hernandez had given her the brief, and she was only set to meet Hernandez for the first time within the next two weeks. She sighed heavily. With all the talk of some FBI mole, it was strange timing for a massive bust to come up like this—with the help of an NCPD Detective. Still, she could not afford to reject it. Her Captain would eat her for breakfast and considering Wong had accepted she’d been buddy-buddy with the feds, as that had been Alex’s cover for the DEO, well...

When it came to convincing the petrified NCPD science division of her fall from grace, though, she thought with a wry chuckle and a slightly satisfied gulp of cheap scotch that it had gone particularly well.

 

* * *

 

**APRIL 1st 2018**

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Wong muttered. “Just be very violent and non-apologetic.”

“Don’t worry.” Maggie fixed her with a rakish grin. “I performed excellently in drama class.”

“A college minor?”

“Nope. Sophomore year production of—”

“Get yourself fired,” Wong said exasperatedly, shooting up from his seat. “And the best of luck to you, you stubborn, risk-taking son of a bitch, Sawyer.”

“That’s _enough_!” Maggie roared, snorting at the violent way Wong almost jumped out of his skin. Wong walked over to the front of the desk and raised his eyebrows. They had not rehearsed this. “I’m _sick_ of you treating me like I’m some sort of fragile duckling.” She clumsily backed out of the Captain’s door so the rest of the bullpen could pretend to ignore the hideously loud argument, with Captain Wong trailing after her, arms folded. “What is it, huh? Just because I worked with the feds on a few cases you don’t think I’m NCPD material anymore?”

“You broke _several_ laws in your hot-headed pursuit of justice,” Wong said sternly. He remained as unreadable as ever, so Maggie put some of her supposed hot-headedness to practice by swiping viciously at Detective Kilcanny’s desk. Kilcanny roared his disapproval, his lunch spilling all over the floor as he cursed at her. “You’re not ready to come back, Sawyer, and I’m not sure you ever will be! You’ve become jaded. Cynical. You’ve lost all we believe in, and we cannot have a ticking time bomb sitting in my precinct.”

“You know what, you can fuck yourself,” Maggie snarled. She tried not to show too much pride at having free reign over swearing at her boss. Wong narrowed his eyes at her. “Do you know what _you_ are, old man? You’re as gullible as pig shit. You think some caped chick can save our city? I know what saves our city. How many giant purple aliens do you get per annum compared to bank robberies, B &E’s, arson, hostage situations, _human_ murders—”

“What’s your point, Sawyer? You think you can go off on your own?”

“I’m saying,” she said through gritted teeth, because really, part of this was true, “some jobs should be left to good old police work. It’s never proven ineffective and the fact that you idolise some city building-bashing snob of a superhero— _super_ hero, what a fucking ridiculous—yeah, the press, the cops, the President—”

“And _what_? You want her gone? You want to ignore the fact that there are aliens living among us?”

“No. I’m saying you should let police do police work, and let Supergirl tackle giant wolves and monstrous Palpatines.” Wong opened his mouth, and Maggie said loudly, “But you don’t dare, do you? You want Supergirl to swoop in and save the day. You know she bashed her way in through a hostage situation _I had under control_? Instead of getting everyone out safely with no damage at all, she smarmily flies in, breaks a dude’s collarbone, gives another concussion, and then nearly obliterates the roof of one of the city’s oldest buildings.”

“Hey, hey, Sawyer,” Balewa’s voice floated across the bullpen. Maggie closed her eyes. She did not want to insult her only friend at the precinct. “Maybe you need a longer readjustment period, buddy. It’s not abnormal—”

“No, what’s _abnormal_ is the fact that freakin’ extraterrestrial Daxamites nearly succeeded in invading our planet and we could do nothing about it,” Maggie snapped. “We don’t have the weaponry. A singular superhero won’t stop an army of aliens. But we’re just carrying on like none of that happened. You know what I think? So much for the science division. So much for investigating all things that go bump in the night. Because you know what happens when we are under your command, _Captain_? The instinct is to run because we’re sub-par humans with sub-par weaponry whilst Project Cadmus is continually developing—”

“You don’t think we’re doing all we can?”

“If that equates to storming vacated lots like a bull in a china shop without all the china, then yeah,” Maggie snapped. She did have one weakness: she was an easy smiler. And the fact that Wong’s face was turning increasingly purple was almost a little too much. “First thing I’m gonna do when I celebrate seeing your ugly face for the last time is drive to Dallas and buy the biggest shotgun there is, because—” Maggie slammed her service weapon onto the floor, and stomped on it, and again, and again until everyone’s horrified “ _ooooooooohs”_ faded into the distance.

“Then,” she said loudly, yanking the NCPD badge from her belt. She whacked it against the monitor of her desk computer, to a collective “ _ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh_ ”. “And lastly, if I hear a _word_ about you replacing my desk partner—” she gestured to Detective Balewa, who genuinely looked as if she wanted to shrink into another dimension, “—With anyone less than excellent, I’ll come after your ass, cut it up and feed it to the nearest free range cattle field. You _got that_?”

“I think,” Wong snarled, “You’ve disgraced yourself enough, Detective.”

“You disgrace National City on a daily basis,” Maggie retorted. “Oh, shit. I forgot I kept one in my sock.”

“Excuse me?”

“A gun,” she drawled as she stepped into the elevator. Everyone within the bullpen seemed to fall deathly silent, and just for the sake of it, she aimed and fired at the glass partition separating the Captain’s office and the bullpen. She smirked as the glass shattered, and Wong’s mouth fell open. “Ciao,” she waved mock-fondly, as the elevator doors slammed shut.

She could still hear Wong’s yells. “Put out an APB for her! I want it to be known to the entire city she is now a known alien collaborator, highly suspected to be working for Project Cadmus and/or similar organisations! _Put—out—that—APB_!”

 _You go, Captain_ , Maggie thought, pleased. She winked up at the elevator camera. _You go_.

 

* * *

 

**MAY 20th 2018**

Cadmus was a maze you instantly regretted setting foot in with all exits sealed with five feet of steel. The first few times she’d visited, she’d been escorted via van with a bag over head. Next were the whistle-stop tours with three equally sexist, lousy grunts but as Maggie scoured the place with her eyes, it just didn’t feel right. She expected cells of aliens or meta-humans and instead there were unsuspecting storage cabinets and overstuffed files. There was not a massive laser cannon in sight.

It was only on her fourth, maybe fifth, snooze-worthy trip to Cadmus that she actually saw a brief glimpse of daylight on the way there. Still, Maggie had absolutely no idea where Cadmus HQ was. The only reason the bag had been ripped away from her head was because, as Grunt #1 said, “Mrs. Luthor doesn’t like us treatin’ our guests like disrespectful bitches.”

Maggie clenched her jaw so she wouldn’t have to snap his neck.

As grimey and as dark as Cadmus HQ was inside, it only added to the sense of foreboding she felt every time she set foot in the place. Yet...this wasn’t the place she’d been taken to the last few times. First of all, there was actually a mini entrance hall. Next, it was _huge_ , and she was quite sure she could hear other personnel either working further down the building, or faint screams locked away somewhere.

“I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore,” Maggie muttered, ignoring Grunt #3’s confused grimace.

“Not quite, Miss Sawyer.” _Argh_. Maggie closed her eyes as the familiar click-clack of heels rung in her ears, the sound amplified for the sheer heavyweight of a complete _ass_ this woman was. She closed her eyes and turned slowly around, cursing Lillian Luthor’s ability to appear somewhat eloquent in this shit-hole of a place. “We’d heard tales of your loud firing from the NCPD. It’s such a shame they’d throw away talent like yours. What happened?”

“The veil falls away,” Maggie said shortly. She’d practised for _hours_ in front of her bathroom mirror every morning and had cut down her story from a J.R.R. Tolkien novel to short, sharp sentences. “You lose your naivety when in a year, your dad’s still a raging homophobe and alien amnesty somehow results in throwing away aliens in jail cells, still.” The last wasn’t entirely true. Wong’s statistics were fuzzy in her mind, but she kept it that way.

“I apologise for our security measures. But you must understand our need for secrecy. The sight you’ve been visiting is merely a storage facility. We had to confirm you had no tracker on you and nor would you inform law enforcement before bringing you to our headquarters.”

“Fair play.”

“Not one of many words, I see,” Lillian hummed. “I have to ask: why did you let our van pass through when you knew our cargo? You weren’t fired from the NCPD until two weeks afterwards.”

“Week and a half,” Maggie said. “Checked the back. Figured I didn’t need to be a cop to have the USA’s best interests at heart. They were tied up but they were pissed. I don’t know what you do with them, but they sure don’t come back, and I don’t want those aliens around in National City. Simple.”

“You’re a smart one. I’ll give you that.” Maggie waited for something else, but it never came. Lillian studied her, and it felt truly invasive. She stilled, almost feeling like an army private waiting for further instructions. She had been cautious. Anything stashed in her apartment that connected her in any way to her ‘previous’ life she’d thrown, regrettably, into the trash. Her badge, papers, files and mission detail were privy only to Wong, Lockson, Hernandez and any other feds handling her case—though with their recent mole scare, she suspected Lockson and Hernandez would have kept her case on the down low. Maggie didn’t move an inch as Lillian’s eyes roved over her. They were bright and greedy like a supernova, shining crystal blue. Piercing. She was beautiful, elegant, and Maggie could _definitely_ see where Lena got her looks from. Thankfully, she hadn’t inherited her mother’s tendency of sheer shittiness.

“Yet,” Lillian said, and Maggie groaned internally. She should’ve known Lillian wasn’t quite done with her. “I always thought you were immovably pro-alien. Fighting by Supergirl’s side...”

“The same Supergirl who’s started to impose on my areas of jurisdiction with her gung-ho, prideful shows of valour?” Maggie spat. “The same Supergirl whose Daxamite boyfriend dismissed the police force as practically useless because of her presence? Supergirl made a mockery of my job. Supergirl’s an alien. So were the Daxamite invaders. So are half the crooked on the streets.

“Why did you approach me?” Maggie asked, because it would be the sensible thing to ask. She knew Wong had already spread reports of an alien-killing rogue cop like wildfire.

“I don’t trust cops,” Lillian said. “But you’re not a cop, Maggie Sawyer. You want change.”

“Is ‘change’ what the C in Cadmus stands for?”

Lillian laughed, so loudly that it echoed far down the hall. It was then it hit her: this was way over her head, and she’d dunked happily into it. Even if this was one Cadmus site, then infiltrating the other cells would be near impossible. They’d have to deploy teams of undercover agents—if they hadn’t already. Maggie’s lips quirked upwards in a forced smile.

“Let me tell you something, Maggie Sawyer,” Lillian said quietly. Maggie swallowed a sigh. _Here comes the recruitment speech._ “There are those who want to wrong the rights in this world; to make a change. And then there are those who are willing to follow whatever the President, or the Secretary of State, or whoever, says. Within that group of people who want change, there are those who simply want it and there are those who take action.

“But change is tangible. People, by nature, want to turn bad into good, not the other way around. Yet perspective bends, and what I deem bad, others deem good, and vice versa. And we both act on it.”

“And it becomes a war,” Maggie murmured.

“Quite so. You don’t make history with a non-violent protest; you make it with an atomic bomb.”

Maggie didn’t have the stomach for a retort. She only nodded instead to feign understanding, idly kicking the muddy floor. The fact that Lillian’s justification for the end of World War II could be so spoken so casually of, as if it hadn’t torn an entire Japanese empire apart by uncloaking their belief in their emperor as a God, or the mass-destruction that still shook the world to this day, made her insides crawl. She licked her suddenly-dry lips and wondered if she was actually ready for this. If Lillian Luthor was talking about atomic bombs, then she suspected Cadmus was up to something even more drastic than Medusa.

“Then I suppose you also make history by being a Supergirl from another planet.” The spite in her voice was clear. “Bulletproof, faster than a plane, can lift a bus with a finger...”

“An inconsiderate fool,” Maggie interrupted. She liked Kara; she even now liked Supergirl. But she had to tap into _some_ old feelings to win over Lillian Luthor of all people. Lillian’s exhaustive talking was begging for a giveaway interruption. Maggie knew that. She just couldn’t think of one until now. “When I still worked as a cop, I handled a hostage negotiation,” she said through gritted teeth. She didn’t have to feign the sourness she felt over it. Working those cases only reminded her of Alex. In this particular one, Supergirl’s cockiness and Mon-El’s punchable face over pizza as he dismissed her profession was enough to make her simmering anger believable enough—or she hoped. “It took me _hours_. I finally got him to agree to terms and in the last minute, Supergirl swoops in, crashes through a national building _we_ have to pay for in damages, and instead of handling it delicately, she swings her hammer about and gives a guy concussion and another a broken arm.”

“Ah.”

“Even in the face of justice, they... _aliens_...still mess it up. I had that situation under _my_ control.”

“And that’s what made you quit the police force?”

Maggie hadn’t noticed, but they’d been strolling leisurely towards what seemed like an office. Lillian sat behind the desk anyway, and motioned for her to do similarly. One of the grunts poured whiskey from the decanter for the both of them, and then she waved her off. God, they hadn’t even searched her. If she’d snuck a handgun in she would’ve put two in the forehead by now.

“Police force.” Maggie laughed derisively, feeling the whiskey burn down her throat. She took a bigger gulp than usual, trying to wash away the truth of the distaste in her mouth. “Who needs a police force when you’ve got a flying superhero?”

“Regular people,” Lillian said.

Maggie had never liked the sound of this mission and she didn’t like the way her gut instantly agreed with Lex Luthor’s _mother_. The crazy-ass, alien-massacring _bitch_. “Guess I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t had that opinion expressed directly to my face.”

Surprisingly, Lillian froze. Just for a millisecond. She slowly sipped her whiskey, those shards of eyes studying her closely again. Maggie fidgeted in her seat. She hadn’t felt so weirdly interrogated since her interview for her job at the NCPD, and even that seemed like a walk in the park compared to keeping her eyes locked in Lillian. She looked downwards to take another sip of whiskey.

“Revolution, sometimes, is necessary to restore normality. True upheaval.”

“Mm. Right.”

“You worked cases with Supergirl, though, if I’m not mistaken? And the DEO?”

“Yes. I did.”

“And?”

Maggie wasn’t quite sure what to expect. She had no real information to divulge, and any information she did have she certainly would _not_. Finishing off her whiskey and letting it clatter on Lillian’s imposing, dark, oak desk, she leant forwards in her seat and rested her elbows on her thighs. Her fingers clasped into a fist.

“If Medusa failed the first time around,” Maggie said, “Is there a reserve batch?”

Lillian leant back in her luxurious leather chair and laughed, standing up quickly to fetch the decanter. She refilled Maggie’s glass and clinked her own against it. “Oh, we’ll have use for someone like you, Maggie Sawyer.”

 

* * *

 

Her meetings, thankfully, involved exclusively her and Hernandez. She’d only woken up at 4am last night thinking of Lockson’s mint-free breath for an entire hour in the back of the SUV and had cracked open a beer, depressingly. It surprised her how sparse these meetings were. This would be the first time she’d seen Hernandez since the initiation one with Lockson and Wong, but she supposed it made sense. If she kept dodging off into the night, knowing Cadmus’ technologies (but not really) and its tendency to track people, it would only arouse suspicion. Furthermore, there was still the unresolved matter of the FBI mole. Maggie thought of this as she clambered into the back of the SUV, and decided to shut her mind off from the weeks of research she’d hidden away in her new safehouse.

For all she knew, _Hernandez_ could’ve been the FBI mole. Who knew with these agencies anyway? And besides, when she suggested it, he actually agreed that minimal but useful information would be given to him. Things like smuggling routes would be understandably kept to herself unless they were planning a raid—and they still had to collect too much intel for a proper bust.

“It’s kinda so predictable you could’ve seen this weird alliance from a mile off,” Maggie said as they shared a midnight dinner of cheeseburgers and chips. Hernandez was an easy guy to talk to. If Lockson was the one with a log lodged up his arse, Hernandez was the surfer dude who somehow cruised into the FBI.

“So we have confirmation?” Hernandez said, his mouth full of lettuce. He apologised, grinning as Maggie took an equally huge bite. “Roulette and Lillian Luthor?”

“Caught on camera. Felt like the paps.”

“Normally I’d say hand over your copies, but...” Hernandez licked his fingers as he polished off his meal, wiping his hands in his jeans. Maggie threw him a napkin. “Not right now. I trust myself about as much as I trust my colleagues. We get taught at Quantico to never trust anyone; now we’re really putting it to practice.”

“No luck with the mole?”

Hernandez shook his head.

It had been a couple of weeks now, and just yesterday she’d been given her first driving assignment. A simple one: she was ferrying a van-full of innocent aliens for Cadmus’ sick experimentations. Maggie was a quick learner but this was not a difficult game. Roulette and her grunts would grab the aliens off the streets and deliver them to her partner, Lillian Luthor. She would get a fat pay-check every time and Lillian would get new pets for experimentations. Particularly sick ones or strange manifestations sometimes got trafficked back to Roulette, if any of her elite circles were interested in what had gone from a fight club to a freak show. Apparently the shows were a big hit. Maggie grimaced to herself. Any excuse to see a human humiliated was enough for people to show up; any excuse for an _alien_ getting humiliated...well that was even better material.

Hernandez opened her case file on his lap and scribbled a few notes down. “So Roulette’s still operating some sort of alien entertainment industry too?”

“Yeah. I haven’t been able to infiltrate any of them, but if I work my way up, I should do.”

“Okay—try that angle. You’re working closer to Roulette than you are Mrs. Luthor, so maybe that’s your avenue in.”

“There’s one problem: I still don’t exactly know what Lillian’s doing to the aliens I traffic for Roulette. I can infiltrate Roulette’s side-project, but shouldn’t we be hitting Cadmus hard?”

“Yes, but you know what I say is right: we need to build this case. You can’t hit Cadmus with anything but a pebble if you don’t Rain Man the shit out of Roulette’s transportation routes.” Maggie thought about her wall for a moment and the map she’d built, but kept her mouth shut. “Once you have that nailed, you still need her full trust. A driver doesn’t equate to something like a personal bodyguard. And you’re also fresh meat for Lillian Luthor. I know it sucks, Maggie, and I know it goes against everything you stand for, but you really need to play ball with them. Lillian got out of prison once. We need something iron-solid to keep her behind bars forever.”

“I know,” Maggie sighed, “And I know I was aware this’d be a long-haul. It’s just...the longer I’m doing this, the worse I feel. It’s not just Lillian. It’s Roulette too. Bargaining with the devil, hell, trading your life for the devil is one thing—but when there’s two of them...”

Hernandez clumsily patted her kneecap. Usually, she would’ve snapped his arm for that, but she was too tired. It wasn’t the physicality of the job. Waking up at ungodly hours and driving was not exactly taxing. It was the mental aspect. Maggie knew one thing: she would not lose herself in working for Cadmus. But it didn’t mean that Cadmus wasn’t bodyslamming her brain every night as she tossed and turned in her lumpy safehouse’s bed.

“How’re you, er, handling the city’s national hero?” Hernandez asked.

“Pretty well. I’m not even sure she’s aware of exactly what’s going on, but I’ve worked alongside the...” She pretended to choke on her water and coughed, swallowing _The DEO_ from her mouth and _Alex_ as she patted her chest, “Sorry—I meant—alongside Supergirl enough to be able to deduce certain...patterns to avoid. Kind of.”

“Good. Keep at it. I haven’t met the chick but she seems the pure of heart kind. Still, we can’t even let the pure of heart into this.”

“Don’t worry. I don’t intend to.”

 

* * *

 

**JUNE 23rd 2018**

It had been one time. _One time_.

Luckily, as per protocol, Maggie had the balaclava on (“I know you’re only our getaway driver, but just stick that thing on,” one of Roulette’s men, Grant, had insisted). When she yanked it over her head, he nodded in approval. Truthfully, she was just sick of Grant—why was she always paired with his group?—telling her to read the ‘Getaway Driver for Dummies’ manual. She could hear the men laughing in the back, so every trip with Maggie Sawyer was a trip filled with violent turns, running red lights, and braking so hard she’d developed a game in her mind in which she’d count the number of thuds against the back of the van she could hear.

She’d lost track.

And then she slipped up. For someone who had been studying Roulette’s trafficking routes throughout the city and marking the easiest ones to avoid detection, she was damned angry at herself. Luckily, this time she wasn’t carrying a precious cargo of grade-A giant cannons or alien passengers. Only a couple of idiot runners Roulette had hired. Later on, she’d been horrified to find two of them were on the team because they couldn’t speak, and they couldn’t speak because their tongues had been ripped out.

“Probably blabbed to the cops or something,” Grant said nonchalantly, when she’d asked him about them. “That Luthor woman ain’t a fan of snitches.”

“And I suppose you’re not a fan of her?” Maggie asked.

Grant laughed. “Are _you_?”

“Trick question?”

“Listen, she pays well and that means I get to shop well and eat well. Cash doesn’t buy anyone respect or likability, but it means I’ll do her dirty business for her.”

Maggie thought of this conversation as she drove, acutely aware the instant she’d taken maybe the third turn that this was not the usual route she liked to take. Windowless, the boys in the back knew nothing. But she was beginning to think of loyalty now, and how the well-paid idiots would easily gun her down if they ever got busted. Having said that, her safehouse was looking a little more cushy with Roulette’s pay.

She sighed, already bored with the day job. It was getting monotonous now. By no means did she want to be fighting giant purple spiders, but even the term _getaway driver_ was an understatement. She also had no desire to be robbing banks, but at least their getaway drivers had something to get away from—

“Ah— _shit_ —”

Maggie’s foot slammed on the brakes, yelling for the guys to take cover as her wavering vision fixated on an obstinate blue-and-red object— _person_ , no, wait, _alien_ —stood in the middle of the road. With her hands on her hips, Maggie recognised that ‘S’ symbol anywhere—right before the airbag blew up in her face.

 _Anything for a Danvers_ , she would once say—but she wasn’t an NCPD cop anymore. Wong’s APB would’ve reached the DEO the instant Wong yelled the three letters in the precinct, and Maggie had never been happier to ‘follow protocol’ as per Grant’s constant requests. Groaning, she pounded on the separation flap between her at the front—all alone—to the guys at the back. It took at least six more demanding thuds before a bruised Grant eventually pulled her through, shoving someone that looked like a light-up revolver in her hands. She stared stupidly at it, wondering if the increasing frequency of the whizzing sound coming from her weapon was the fabrication of her ears still ringing from the almost-crash, or—

“What are you waiting for?” Grant snarled, as two of his men kicked the back door of the van open. “Get the hell out and start shooting!”

“You think we can outrun _Supergirl_?”

“Don’t worry, Getaway.” Grant was fond of nicknames. Maggie staggered out of the back, groaning as she realised she’d taken the scenic route—which meant their extraction route would have to be in the woods. “We’ve got a diversion.”

Maggie ducked as the guys rained a hailstorm of bullets at Supergirl, who stood defiantly, unaffected. She wasn’t sure if it was a show of arrogance to unnecessarily remind everyone that she was indeed bulletproof, or if there was some point to be proven. If there was, Maggie could not think of any. Instead, she blindly grasped for Grant’s hand to pull him down from the vehicle too as she sprinted for cover, her heart racing. She did _not_ come here today to witness Roulette’s men take down Supergirl. It wouldn’t happen, of course, but it just so happened by chance that she was now definitely on the wrong side.

Dread filled her as she wondered how far off the DEO were. Dazed, she stumbled back as Jonah, Grant’s second-in-command, tossed her some kind of super-powered spear that made the Daxamite weapons look like toys.

“Ditch the little gun,” Jonah ordered, “Second line! Get that laser cannon working!”

“Stop this now!” Supergirl yelled down the road. Spectators had gathered on the sidewalks, watching in silent awe. _Get inside, you idiots_ , Maggie wanted to tell them. _Get the hell inside_! But this was what vigilante justice was all about. Cops in a shootout still had to barge through civilians. Stick an alien in a fancy costume versus a big-ass weapon and suddenly it was the equivalent of the Gunfight at the O.K. Corral. “Stop it and I won’t hurt you!”

 _Shit. Shit, shit, shit,_ shit. Maggie could feel sweat dripping down her brow as her heart thumped harder. If by some miracle she made it out of this alive, her route would be questioned and she didn’t even have an answer. She was beginning to think the miracle would actually be her dying, because she did not want to become another Cadmus experiment.

“Grant,” she hissed. “She’s standing there but it won’t be long before she gets back-up.”

He nodded, and smacked Jonah with the butt of his gun. “Make it quick!”

She knew Supergirl would be eyeing the big prize: the cannon. And she _knew_ the cannon was no match for her. Frankly, Maggie didn’t know what Grant was thinking. Maybe this was his way of showing he wasn’t scared of her. But Maggie _was_ , and she did _not_ scare easy. Blending in with the burly men at the back, she moved far away from the cannon and prepared her gun. It was more like a rifle than a spear, except it was _massive_ , and her arms were beginning to ache.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Jonah said, “But let’s see if you can take the heat first.”

Maggie rolled her eyes. _Walking cliché._ The power surge of the cannon firing sent Jonah sprawling back as two of the other guys rushed forward to make sure the aim stayed true as it combated Supergirl’s heat vision.

“ _Argh_ —it’s not gonna—hold!” Jonah groaned as he crawled up, shoving his bodyweight against the cannon. Supergirl was beginning to advance, her heat vision set to overpower the cannon in minutes. Maggie glanced across and shook her head at Grant, who refused to give the order to fall back. _Stubborn bastard_.

With every step Supergirl took, the riskier her cover became. Either Supergirl would literally kill her for her pseudo fall to the Dark Side, or an accidental Kara Danvers would peek out in reporter mode and see through the lie Maggie was living.

Either way, she silently apologised to Supergirl. And then she fired.

The blast of the rifle-spear knocked her onto her back, but it seemed to clip Supergirl’s shoulder as she lay on the ground, groaning in pain. Maggie found herself hauled up, and thrown into the backseat of a clearly stolen vehicle—she could hear glass smashing and vivid curse-words from the sidewalk.

“Get out of here—now,” Grant commanded, and the car clumsily U-turned before speeding off. Maggie’s eyes blinked open, her vision fuzzy and her nausea rising exponentially. Her head was on Grant’s lap, and he’d taken off his jumper to stem the bleeding. “You’re concussed, Sawyer,” he told her, rather unnecessarily. “You’re a fucking nutjob.”

“A nutjob,” laughed the man in the passenger seat. Maggie could faintly hear his laugh—what was his name? Leo? Leon? “That was _awesome_.”

“Well, _I’m_ not telling Lillian Luthor her laser cannon machine sucks balls,” Grant said moodily.

“Hey, don’t be looking at me, man. I ain’t the one who drove into her.”

“I didn’t _drive into her_ —” Maggie drawled, her hand flailing out to bat thin air.

Grant smacked the headrest of Leon’s seat. “She was the one who took the shot. She’s exempt.”

“What’re you gonna say to the boss woman then, huh?”

“That the cannon sucks, but we’re keeping our driver.”

Maggie closed her eyes, feeling her consciousness slip away like water running through her fingers. She silently apologised again, this time for feeling ever so slightly smug she got the shot. _Sorry about that, Kara_.

 

* * *

 

**SEPTEMBER 2nd, 2018**

There were times Maggie appreciated being a criminal, but then she’d push the thought from her mind, feeling guilty. Roulette’s money was so ridiculous that it really was no wonder why National City was so rife with crime. Briefly, she’d worked with Gotham PD—and as grim as that place was, it didn’t compare to the alien hate crimes and general dickheads wandering about. It made her job entertaining, but it also made her job a necessity. The deeper Maggie found herself lured into Lillian Luthor and Roulette’s world, the more attached she felt to her status as a cop.

She was undercover, and it was imperative that everyone thought she’d gone rogue. Even her closest friends...even her loved ones.

Sometimes she wondered if it’d be easier if she wasn’t a good cop. Maggie wasn’t arrogant enough to deem herself so, but she’d always been popular in the precinct and her arrest tally was through the roof. Despite this, she knew Wong had picked her for this assignment not because of her tally, but because she did not have family she was close to, or a significant other. Well, not anymore.

Alex must’ve gotten word now that Maggie was working for the enemy. She wanted to tell her it was a lie. She wanted to tell _someone_. She couldn’t talk to fucking anyone, and even though Maggie had never been much of a talker, this long spent in isolation committing crimes and breaking every moral bone in her body was starting to exhaust her. A part of her almost felt ashamed to think about what Alex thought of her now.

With the wages she’d saved (Hernandez insisted on her opening an alternative bank account for this so he could monitor her money) she purchased a large storage box just outside of town. It looked like something out of a spy movie—like one of those dank rooms with writing etched on the walls in invisible ink. In Maggie’s, there were newspaper clippings, stolen blueprints, bank statements, faxes and all sorts stuck to the walls. Unfortunately, there were no connecting lines. On a surface level, it was quite apparent what was going on, but there just wasn’t enough proof to nail someone for it. Lillian and Roulette were smart businesswomen. They knew this game better than Maggie.

She had everything under control—until the L-Corp incident.

For so long, she’d relied on Agent Hernandez as her sole point of contact. Between him and Captain Wong, they were the only people in the world who knew of her status as an undercover agent. If they were killed, Maggie would be forever stuck in Roulette’s criminal operation unless she magically found a way to prove she’d been NCPD all along. Considering Wong had taken extensive measures to erase her from the system, just in case the mole was within the bullpen itself, Maggie’s life was in their hands.

And the next time she went to meet Hernandez—they usually picked open locations like desolate parks, so they could speak discreetly—he was pelted with rapid gunfire as he walked past the L-Corp building.

It happened in a flash. One moment Maggie was walking around the corner; the next she was scrambling over to Hernandez’s limp, lifeless body, sprawled on the pavement. She could hear the screech of tires, but she didn’t give a shit. Nobody knew she knew of Hernandez’s status as an FBI agent. Nobody knew they were connected. As far as anyone else was concerned, she was simply a passerby who’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Shit.” Maggie swore under her breath repeatedly as she fell to her knees, her jeans drenched in blood. Hernandez was already gone. “ _Shit_.”

It was selfish, but the only thing Maggie could think of was that Captain Wong was the only one left who knew about her mission. Wong was the only link left to the police division she had.

Her heart sunk, petrified of the idea of getting stuck with Roulette until the day she died. She _had_ to get in contact with Wong as soon as possible, in case someone really _was_ hunting her handlers down. There was still, however, the possibility of this being a random attack on an FBI agent—it happened more frequently than Maggie liked. Contacting Wong about this would only run the risk of her getting caught, but what else could she do?

Swallowing hard, she closed his eyes out of respect. Her hands were coated with his blood, and her fingers were frozen and shaking. Something snapped inside her. Her jaw clenched. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t even fear. It was the simple feeling of dread; of knowing that there was a real possibility of her mission failing, and her being unable to get out of the world she’d been sucked into.

“The DEO’s five minutes away.”

Maggie froze at the sound of Kara’s voice. She didn’t move. She could hear Kara—in her Supergirl outfit—shift uncomfortably behind her. There were certain things she couldn’t hide as Supergirl. One of them was her mannerisms. She moved closer so she could kneel beside Maggie, carefully avoiding the pool of blood. “I can take his body away.”

“Where’s Lena?” Maggie asked.

“Business trip. Maggie, I think you’re in shock.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re as pale as a ghost. Let...Let the DEO handle the body. I’ll take you—”

“I don’t need mollycoddling, Ka—Supergirl,” Maggie snapped, quickly glancing around. A small crowd had gathered a couple of yards away from them. She knew she couldn’t be too careless. “I can handle this. I can handle the DEO. I didn’t even know the guy,” she lied, jerking her head towards Hernandez’s body. She stood up quickly, her head spinning. Low blood sugar, probably.

Kara chewed on her lip, clearly still uncomfortable about something. For someone who was supposed to have a secret, dual identity, she was incredibly shit at it. “DEO’s round the corner,” she said. When Maggie failed to respond, she added carefully, “Alex is leading the strike team.”

Maggie tried not to balk. Instead, she said, “Strike team?”

“They heard reports of a shooting...”

“It wasn’t a fucking gunfight—a man got gunned down—”

Kara yanked her by the lapel of her leather jacket, under the pretence of threatening her. Maggie supposed if she was anyone else, she would feel some sort of fear shuddering through her, but because she _knew_ it was meek, giggly, lightweight Kara Danvers underneath that ridiculous outfit of hers, she gave herself a mental Oscar for looking surprised.

“You need to get out of here—now,” Kara muttered, and shook Maggie by her jacket.

“There’s a crowd,” Maggie muttered back. “I don’t think they’ll be convinced if you just fly off with me.”

“What exactly do you want? You want me to get you out of here or do you want to deal with my sister?”

Maggie gritted her teeth. Time was running out, and she didn’t have the heart to face Alex yet. She didn’t have it in her to see the suspicion on her face; to have Alex believe the rumours of her working so closely with Lillian Luthor and Roulette. She imagined Kara wouldn’t let Alex hurt her anyway, and she knew Kara didn’t want to lie to her sister. At the same time, Maggie refused to draw Alex into this. The safest option would be to keep her in the dark. Supergirl was bulletproof, but Alex Danvers wasn’t—and Alex Danvers was the woman she loved, not the woman of steel.

Alex Danvers was the woman who could never know, not until this was all over, that Maggie still loved her. It hurt her chest to think about what Alex must’ve thought of her now.

“Punch me,” Maggie said suddenly.

Kara blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You’re taking me hostage. I’m a criminal. Punch me. Just—um—remember you’re Kryptonian.”

“Wh— _oh_.”

Maggie’s heart dropped to the floor as she heard the screech of tires veering around the corner, and the distinctive black van. Judging by the race-car style of driving, she knew it was Alex behind the wheel. _Alex_. It was the last thought in her mind before Kara’s iron fist smacked into her nose and she toppled backwards, her world crashing into darkness. _Alex_.


	3. The Bodyguard and the Liar

**MAY 24th, 2018**

“You probably need to stop withholding so much information from the Captain,” Balewa said over the desk as she chomped on a peri-peri chicken burger. “Everyone and their child knows that you’re working in conjunction with Supergirl.”

“Pfft. Listen, I don’t discuss it with Wong, and Wong knows that.”

“In case you’d forgotten, Sawyer, the Daxamites attacked and we had to rely on gathering everyone in a fucking dive-bar to come up with some sort of strategy. We can’t let that happen again.”

“Lena Luthor’s lead bomb did the trick. The Daxamites aren’t coming back.”

“Maybe not the Daxamites, but what about any other species?”

“Then we’ve got Supergirl.”

“No.” Maggie didn’t mean for it to come out so abruptly. She’d had a hostage situation hijacked—she was sure with the best of intentions, too—by Supergirl. She couldn’t afford to have any more of her police work swept under her nose just because the best line of defence National City had was bulletproof and could fly about. Yet the more she thought about Supergirl, the more she wondered if everyone thought the NCPD were redundant. After all, they had undercover operations with the DEO, with technology that made the police department look like amateurs. Except Maggie was a fucking _good cop_ , and she was not going to let Kara, or Alex, or Winn, or J’onn, or anyone else take that away from her.

Balewa ditched her after lunch, and Wong was nowhere to be seen. A part of her felt somewhat disorientated. She was ninety percent sure she was in the wrong part of town. Wong had agreed that until they sorted out their new handler—rumoured to be Lockson, after Hernandez’s brutal murder—they would avoid contact.

Her brain stem—at least that’s what she thought it was—sent an uncomfortable shudder down her spine. It was not painful, but it was unpleasant. It felt like an electric shock, only it completely disorientated her.

“Hands up where I can see them!”

That wasn’t Kara’s distinctive voice. Slowly, kicking aside her weapon, she swivelled around to face the Guardian. To his left stood Winn, who was completely defenceless. Maggie shoved her hands in her pockets, and the Guardian didn’t move.

“Didn’t take you for a traitor, Sawyer,” the Guardian said in that ridiculous voice-masking app of his.

“Well, if I’d have been obvious, then it would’ve been pointless.”

“It doesn’t have to be like this. Come in with us to the DEO for further questioning and we’ll take it from there.”

“And what? Have Kara beat the shit out of me? Thanks, James, but no thanks.”

“It’s the only fair way of doing it,” Winn pled with her. “You know if Kara went after you, you’d stand no chance. I know you and Alex are pretty even when it comes to close-combat, but Kara can literally heat-vision you until you’re burnt to a crisp.”

“I’m not afraid of her,” Maggie said stubbornly.

“Then just come with us,” Winn said. A little too desperately. “Come with us to the DEO.”

Maggie frowned at him. Testing the waters, she pulled out the pistol from her peacoat pocket. Neither Guardian nor Winn made an effort to move. If anything, she expected Guardian to toss his shield at her, like some sort of Frisbee—but it never happened. Instead, she racked her brains. The tiniest of slithers of information were starting to filter through. She could very much see the same alleyway, as if she had been here four or five times before. She almost expected the screech of Alex’s SUV around the corner in five minutes. And every now and then, her temple would scorch with pain and she winced, images of her hooked up to several wires in a dank facility plaguing her mind, appearing and disappearing as quickly as a torchlight would turn on and off.

“My head,” Maggie groaned, her knees crumpling to the ground. The Guardian and Winn—especially Winn—remained uncharacteristically silent. “What the fuck...”

“We need you debriefed,” the Guardian informed her. “J’onn will be leading the investigation.”

“And...And Alex?”

“Alex’ll be there.”

And she sure was. The distinctive squeal of tires performing a particularly dangerous skid around the corner was only made more dangerous by the fact that Alex had leapt from the driver’s seat before the vehicle had even stopped. She took one look at Maggie on the ground, who didn’t have the heart to meet her gaze. She could _feel_ Alex’s disapproval burning through the side of her head.

“Detective Sawyer.” The tone was cold, and both of them knew why. She wasn’t technically a Detective anymore—not after the scene she’d made trashing the bullpen—and she didn’t have the heart to ask if she would be treated as a criminal, just like Roulette. She saw no reason for exemption. “We need to take you in. Now.”

“Now?”

Alex grabbed her by the scruff of her jacket. Maggie would never admit this, but Alex didn’t smell like... _Alex_. She usually wore that perfume—what was it?— _Dior Poison_ , that’s what it was. She remembered complimenting it all the way through dinner one night, and then snuggling against the crook of her neck until she fell asleep to the sweet whiff of the perfume. In fact, Maggie couldn’t smell _anything_. She wondered if she had a cold, or if her nose was just bunged up.

“Lead the way,” Alex instructed. Even though they hadn’t ended particularly amiably—or they _had_ , but time had festered bitterness—Maggie did not expect the push of the barrel of a gun against her lower back. “DEO Headquarters. Now.”

“Do you not have some sort of getaway vehicle?” Maggie asked cautiously.

She could’ve sworn that hot dog van on the street opposite had been shut for three months now. She knew this because Balewa insisted the sausages were made of cat, and the _traffic_...

“We’ll look much more discreet if we just get in a car,” Maggie tried again. “People are gonna stop us if they see you’ve got a gun pressed to my back.”

“Not if I show them I’m a federal agent.”

“Using what? Your fake badge?”

“Worked the first time with you.” Maggie dared to crick her head to side a little, but the familiar smirk she expected on Alex’s face was completely devoid of emotion. Uncomfortably, she raised her hands above her head and walked slowly, hoping someone would pass by and help her out. The problem was: the streets were absolutely dead, and even if there was a Good Samaritan somewhere in this world, they were _not_ in this area of National City.

“Where the fuck _are_ we?” Maggie asked eventually.

“You tell me,” Alex said. James and Winn trailed behind her—like they’d be of much assistance. Maggie suspected if anyone attacked them, Alex would kick their asses whilst James and Winn would have to hide somewhere. “You’re the one leading us to the HQ.”

“Alex, the last time you made me go, you gave me the most misleading directions _ever_ , and then picked me up about a block away from where it was.”

“Security measures. We should probably get in touch with Supergirl, too. Can you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Get Supergirl.”

“...Why can’t you?”

“I’m looking out for you.”

“You can multi-task, Danvers,” Maggie said slowly. “It’s not hard to give Supergirl a ring while you’re pressing a gun to my back. Plus, she’ll probably wanna hear from you, not me.”

Nothing was making sense. Alex was asking her to get into contact with Supergirl. Alex was asking her to make her own way to the DEO. Winn and James, so often alive and joking, had nothing to say at the back. And even though her and Alex disagreed on a lot of things, Alex was never a bitter, cold bitch. Something was wrong. And Alex didn’t smell like herself.

Maggie’s neck turned crimson, the tips of her ears reddening in embarrassment. Of _course_ that’s what she remembered about Alex.

“It’ll be safer if you lead the way,” Maggie tried, wondering if her suspicions were correct. “You know the way to the headquarters. You can blindfold me if you’re that uptight about security.”

“I said: I told you I want _you_ to—”

“Supergirl is _your_ colleague, not mine. I can’t lead you there because—” Maggie frowned. She was gonna lie, but if Alex didn’t catch on, then she was right. “I don’t know where the DEO is based.”

_I don’t know where the DEO..._

_I don’t know..._

_I don’t—_

Maggie jolted awake, sweat streaming down her face. She stared at her surroundings. The walls were a pristine white, padded and window-less. She was handcuffed to a single, lumpy bed, a cannula stuck into her vein as it pumped sedatives into her system to prevent her from thrashing about. Across the room, behind a screen to protect the radiation, one of the neuroscientists gave her a creepy wave. She could see, if she turned her head, a small screen—almost like a television. She could see the very last image of Alex fade to black.

“It wasn’t real,” she said coarsely.

One of the doctors rushed by her side. “It _was_. Your subconscious is as real as—”

“That’s it?” Maggie nearly ripped the cannula from her arm. “I run shitty errands for your psycho boss and you subject me to drugged up torture? Is that the deal here?”

“Miss Sawyer...” Even as her vision slowly drifted back into focus, she could see the panic written across the young nurse’s features. Her hair was pulled back into a ballet bun, and she hastily upped the intravenous morphine just to stop Maggie from thrashing about in her bed in case she ripped out any of the cannulas. It was then Maggie realised each wrist had been handcuffed to the bed railings, and _fuck_ Cadmus, because she was a prisoner.

“What the hell is going on?” she demanded, when her dry throat seemed to gather a bit of saliva. “Why am I chained up?”

“It’s for your own safety. We had to sedate you, but you kept moving about.”

“Did you ever consider that was because I didn’t want to be strapped to the bed like One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest?”

“Stay calm. You’ll be out of here soon. Do you want any dinner?”

“What’s on the menu?”

“Is spag bol okay?”

“Just...yeah, go on, then...Dr. McMachon.” Maggie tested the name on her tongue. Dr. McMahon gave her a friendly smile, and spoke quietly to one of his nurses—presumably to fetch some food. They set in comfortable silence for a while, with the doctor taking bloods, blood oxygen saturation levels, blood pressure—all the usual stuff required for a check-up. Maggie felt nothing out of the extraordinary except a pounding rhythm in her heart. She was sure it was nothing serious. It was more to do with the fact that she’d essentially been in a simulated part of her consciousness, completely unaware, before being abruptly yanked out. The dizziness and disorientation took a few minutes to settle down, and then she was able to take a few sips of apple juice.

“As soon as I’m satisfied by your physical assessment, you’ll be free to go,” McMahon said. Mrs. Luthor signed you off as sick, but she’ll need you in the office on Friday. She wants me to tell you she has an assignment for you. Apart from that, I would say you are free to go.”

“And what about those...implant things?” Maggie wasn’t going to let this go easily. She could see the screen by her bed. It almost looked like a blood pressure monitor, except the screen was black. Wildly guessing, she assumed they could see what _she_ could see in this fucked-up dream world of hers. “How long am I supposed to have them in for?”

“A while.” Dr. McMahon fidgeted with his clipboard. “Miss Sawyer, you underwent major surgery a few days ago. A small prototype of a neuron-blocker chip was inserted into your brain stem, interfering—”

“You’ve been reading my mind,” Maggie deduced, aghast. _Oh, God. Is that how they got Hernandez?_

“Not exactly. Technology isn’t that advanced yet. We’ve been studying your electrical impulses and correlating them to what we think they mean.”

“In layman’s terms?”

McMahon likely thought his smile was reassuring, but it wasn’t. “It means you have nothing to worry about, Miss Sawyer.”

 

* * *

 

**SEPTEMBER 14th, 2018**

Her new handler, Agent Lockson, was not quite as friendly as Hernandez. She missed the free lunches, and she could not stop staring at his joke of his moustache. He was _very_ business-like; he would’ve made a better banker than he would’ve a federal agent. Still, she reported dutifully to him and he scribbled notes down. Their meetings were sparse but lengthy.

It sounded bad, but Maggie was bored. It wasn’t that she was _hoping_ for a giant bank robbery or a weaponry bust, but _nothing was happening_. Luckily, Roulette hadn’t thrown one of her sickening alien fight clubs. Maggie had always been worried that’d be the moment she’d blow her cover, seeing those poor species subjected to entertainment from the wealthiest.

Nothing seemed strange until one day, Lockson asked, “The information you have on Lillian Luthor and Supergirl—is it all in one place?”

Maggie, who’d demanded a burrito this time, snorted. “No. You think I’m an idiot or something?”

“No, Detective. We need to know where the DEO headquarters are located.”

“Why is _everyone_ asking me that fucking question? And you’re the feds—shouldn’t you know?”

“The DEO’s run by freakin’ aliens and almost-aliens,” Lockson said flatly, “I don’t think so.”

“Why d’you need them?”

“We have resources. So they do. But they also have Supergirl, and we’re sorely lacking in a bulletproof superhero.”

Maggie swallowed the last of her burrito and studied Lockson in silence. They didn’t have the same relationship as she had with Hernandez; Lockson was far more formal, whereas Hernandez was happy spilling garlic mayo from his overflowing quarter pounder cheeseburger onto his fancy suit trousers. Then again, she wasn’t sure if she was just being paranoid, or if she hadn’t quite gotten over the loss of a spectacular agent like Hernandez.

Life was fragile. She’d only been doing this for six months—maybe even less—and if she was really fucking unlucky, and _both_ Wong and Lockson were murdered, she would have no proof in order to return to the NCPD other than perhaps Balewa’s word that she wasn’t a treacherous doofus.

It wasn’t enough, though. She briefly wondered how Wong was doing, and the precinct, but she didn’t ask. It wasn’t any of Lockson’s business, and she doubted he knew anyway.

“I can’t control where they put me,” Maggie said quietly. “I’m supposed to meet with Lillian Luthor tomorrow because she ‘trusts’ me to do something. For all I know, that could mean she trusts me to volunteer for the latest batshit crazy invention she has.”

“You’ll have to utilise it,” Lockson said. He sounded somewhat regretful. They both knew she didn’t have a choice. “You didn’t ask what it entailed?”

“She said it’d keep me out of trouble. Depends on her definition of ‘trouble’.”

Lockson paused for a moment, frowning. He scratched his bald head. “Go with it,” he said unnecessarily, because Maggie had intended to do so anyway. “Whether it leads to Roulette, or deeper into Cadmus, or whether she’s just asking you to babysit a dog—file me a report.”

“Right...”

“One more thing,” Lockson said quickly, before Maggie jumped out of the door. “Don’t be a hermit. Go and have a drink. Be seen. I don’t want people thinking you’ve disappeared. I know it sucks, but you need to start getting used to being Maggie Sawyer, the disgraced NCPD detective who drinks her nights away, and Maggie Sawyer, who’s doing the Federal Agency a favour.”

She thought of M’gann, and the never-ending shots of whiskey. “I can do that.”

 

* * *

 

 **SEPTEMBER 22nd, 2018**  

Oh.

 _Oh_.

“What’s wrong?” Lillian smirked across at her. “Cat got your tongue?”

“It’s just...” Maggie didn’t let her jaw drop as Lena Luthor, looking as beautiful as ever, descended the steps from her plush flat. No eye contact was made with her mother, but her bright blue eyes widened when she saw Maggie. “I...didn’t expect...”

“My daughter’s been the subject of some death threats. I don’t appreciate it,” Lillian added unnecessarily. “I want you by her side like Kevin Costner is with Whitney. I don’t want you to leave her unattended for a second.”

“You make me sound like baggage at an airport, mom,” Lena joked humourlessly. Maggie felt all eyes burn through her skull as she forced a laugh at the supposed joke, and then disguised it into a cough. Animosity sizzled between the two women, before Lillian laughed, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “Please, Miss Sawyer. Take a seat. Darling, be a host and pour your new bodyguard a drink.”

Maggie’s eyes widened, even as she was ushered to her seat—a plump, heavenly sofa. “I’m really okay. I, er, don’t drink on the job.”

“A glass of single malt won’t do you any harm,” Lillian said, and handed the glass over towards Maggie. She took a sip, hating herself for appreciating the fact that she could _taste_ the expense in this. Damn.

“May I ask,” Maggie swirled the contents of her whiskey around in her tumbler, “What happened to your previous bodyguard?”

Lena’s head shot up. “He was getting a little old—”

“Shot in the line of duty,” Lillian said, just as Lena was about to lie. Lena froze, her eyes uncertain as they landed on Maggie, who simply shook it off with a shrug. Maggie wasn’t sure if the air-condition had turned into arctic blast mode, but she felt a shiver run up her spine, all sinister and foreboding. Without a doubt, it had to be Lillian Luthor—even if she was no metahuman or alien. Something about her scared the shit out of Maggie, and not many things did. “And I expect you, Sawyer, to stick to my daughter like PVA glue. Don’t let her out of your sight.”

“Right—”

“You’ve been shot before, Sawyer. I don’t assume you’re afraid of gunshots anymore, are you?”

Maggie stiffened. Throughout her professional life—and it was a necessity if you had to go undercover—you _had_ to be able to lie. But there was one thing lying to an interrogation officer, and another thing lying to Lillian Luthor. And Lena wasn’t exactly an idiot, either. She swallowed, suddenly feeling rather parched, and cleared her throat.

“I’ve...been wounded in the past,” she said diplomatically. “Yet here I am.”

“Exactly.” Lillian smiled almost fondly at her, if she was capable of such emotion. Lena didn’t even blink, but Lillian shrugged, impressed with herself. “Sawyer, you will stay and protect my daughter at all times. If another incident at L-Corp happens again, sole responsibility falls on your shoulders.”

Lena startled in protest, her brow furrowing. “Mother, that’s not fair,” she said immediately, and Maggie’s already sky-high respect for her shot through the stratosphere. Lena said something to her mother she couldn’t quite catch, but it was clear the duo were disagreeing over something.

“It’s my job,” Maggie interjected, before they literally sparred for hours. “I’m at your disposal, Miss Luthor.”

“Lena. Please.”

“Then I’m at your disposal, Lena.”

“Glad that’s all sorted,” Lillian said, hopping up from her seat. She smoothed down the front of her skirt, ice-cold blue eyes piercing through Maggie’s skull. “Make yourself comfortable, Sawyer.”

“I won’t be accompanying you?” Maggie tried not to sound too disappointed. Lena was important, but she wasn’t as important as the work Roulette and Lillian were working together on. She still didn’t have a steady grasp of whatever sick project was next up their sleeve, which meant she’d get a royal bollocking from Wong at the next debrief. Lillian simply smirked at her, and then swept from the room.

Awkwardly, Maggie straightened her posture. She’d only ever seen it on _House of Cards_ , but Edward Meechum, the Underwoods’ bodyguard, always seemed to stand stupidly straight. 

“I apologise for my mother,” was the first thing Lena said as soon as Lillian exited. There was something inherently regal about her, but not haughty like Lillian. She moved with grace and dignity, her chin held high in pride—but never arrogance. Rather objectively, Maggie was sure she had never seen a more elegantly beautiful woman before in her life. No, the attraction was not there. She could, however, understand how Lena Luthor would have handsome suitors lining up for her across the world.

“I’ve...had worse.” This was not a complete lie.

Lena laughed. Maggie could not help but admire her beauty. The long, elegant arch of her neck as she threw her head back to laugh; the perfectly styled eyebrow that raised inquisitively; the insane brainpower Lena didn’t bother hiding behind her otherworldly beauty. Maggie could feel no attraction, but she was also human. Lena Luthor was gorgeous; she was kind; she was brave—and her mother...her bitch of a mother was no reflection upon her.

Wordlessly, Maggie accepted the undoubtedly expensive single malt Lena had poured for her, bowing her head as she did so. Lena smiled at her, amused, as she retreated behind her desk.

“I don’t know what my mother told you,” Lena said, “But you’re not a prisoner here. You don’t need to treat me like the Queen.”

“It’s the principle, Miss—”

“Lena,” she corrected firmly. Maggie shut up, a little scolded. “I’ve been trying to distance myself from that particular surname for a while now. If you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if my own bodyguard respected that one wish.”

“Of course. Sorry. I just—”

“Relax,” Lena laughed. Maggie took a long gulp of her whiskey. It was good, top-notch shit. She was never nervous around new people—but she had to make an exception for Lena. There was not a daunting air about her...Just an unspoken power that she was sure Lena would never tap into. It was the knowledge that she _could_ , at any time.

Lena Luthor was not a fucking idiot.

“So...” She leaned back in her fancy, leather, all-black, executive chair and set her whiskey aside. Not from nerves, but rather so Lena couldn’t see her fiddling with her fingers, Maggie gripped her glass tight. “What business do you have with my mother?”

“E-Excuse me?”

“My mother hires bodyguards the size of Jupiter. Yet here you are, a dirty cop, on my doorstep. Is my mother either planning to kill me off, or is there something else going on?”

Maggie nearly dropped her glass. She had always known Lena was a fucking genius, but she’d never truly interacted with her. That part, she saved for Kara and Supergirl. The only joke she had in mind was how Lena couldn’t even tell the two identities apart, but Alex had one day launched into some overly nerdy explanation about the glasses and how it masked facial features and all sorts—it was bonkers, ridiculous, and...well....Kryptonian. So she relented.

“The truth is, I don’t know, either,” Maggie confessed. This was a relief: she really _didn’t_ know. She suspected maybe Lillian wanted her out of the way for the proper dodgy stuff—as if she hadn’t witnessed enough shit already. “Your mother cares about you, though. She wants you to be protected.”

“By you?”

Maggie did not miss the cynicism. “I’m a fucking good cop, _Miss Luthor_.”

There was a slight pause, and then Lena grinned. _She’s so gorgeous when she smiles_. Quickly, Maggie shook herself as Lena raised her glass and they clinked. Neither of them could predict what would come over the horizon—but whatever it was, Maggie felt assured she had Lena by her side. Strangely, she felt as though Lena was thinking the exact same thing.

 

* * *

 

**SEPTEMBER 26th, 2018**

“The usual please, M’gann.”

“Haven’t seen you around for a while, Maggie.”

“Been busy.”

“Anything...More than that?”

“Classified.”

M’gann rolled her eyes at her and perhaps out of spite, made her beer extra frothy at the top. Maggie made sure to scowl at her before returning to her usual corner of the dive bar. She hadn’t been here in what seemed like ages. Well, it probably was. She was quite certain that the pool table would begin gathering dust without her shitty playing.

“S _aaaaaaaaaaawy-errrrr..._ ” One of the regular patrons sidled up to her table, not quite getting the message of the glare Maggie fixed on him. “Where the _hell_ have you been?”

“It’s called _work_. You should try it sometimes.”

“I dunno, Sawyer. You look like someone’s kicked your puppy and then stuck your cat in a tumble-dryer. If that’s what work does to you, I’m out.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re a lazy bastard,” Maggie called angrily after him, as he sidled away.

M’gann, across the room, could only roll her eyes good-naturedly. Still, M’gann’s ever-welcome presence did not lift her mood. Shot after shot, she downed her whiskey, appreciating the fact that it burned less with every single one. It got to a point where even M’gann was hesitant on serving her anymore, but Maggie was three things when drunk:

  1. Very handsy
  2. Very determined
  3. Very persuasive



“Pool?” Maggie called out to no-one in particular, stumbling off her stool. It took her a few seconds to steady herself against the table, and then she straightened her jacket as if nothing happened.

“In your state?” _Oh shit_. “I don’t think you wanna lose _all_ your money in one night, Sawyer.”

“Danvers,” Maggie said. It was less of a greeting and more of a ‘whatthefuckareyoudoinghere’. “I...”

“Was too drunk to see me nurse three beers in the table across from you?”

“Uh—”

“Come on. Let’s set this up.”

They approached the pool table, which mostly Alex set up because Maggie’s inebriated idea of assistance was to simply slide balls across the table. No conversation was made, and none was really needed. Even in her drunken haze, Maggie cursed her ability to panic. What if she let something secretive loose _now_? Alex Danvers was a damn good agent. If she wanted information, she would _get_ that information.

“I heard what Wong did to you,” Alex said, conversationally. Too conversationally. “Didn’t seem fair.”

“He was right,” Maggie said with a shrug. “I was out of line.”

“Come on, Maggie. You’re like, the model cop. You being out-of-line is like me giving a press conference and telling everyone the real identity of my sister.”

“It just happened,” Maggie said tersely. She opened the game by smacking the white ball and rather pathetically splitting the balls either way. Shit. Well, she’d never been good at the game; she’d only ever wanted to _play_ the game because Alex Danvers had seemed interested in it. “How did you even notice anyway?”

“Well...” Alex leant over to take a shot. Jackpot. “You weren’t showing up at cases anymore. I kinda missed your intrusive style.”

“To be—wait, _intrusive_?”

“Yeah, intrusive. And you always had cases to work. You just...stopped calling.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s nothing. I was just worried about you.”

“Nothing to worry about.” Maggie hoped her white lie would pass Alex Danvers’ meticulous measures. It seemed to, until they finished their game in record time (i.e. Alex thrashed Maggie, who was so drunk she could barely tell the difference between the different coloured balls).

Hesitantly, Alex took her hand and Maggie closed her eyes. She felt stupidly guilty for even thinking this, but the solace Alex’s warm hand offered her was incomparable. The warmth; the friendliness; the adoration. It wasn’t just in her grasp, but also every time she rolled over in bed and slung her arm casually over Maggie’s hip. Every time she mumbled and drooled slightly against Maggie’s collarbone...

“Nice new gun,” Alex remarked offhandedly. It took Maggie a split-second to realise they were headed outside for some fresh air—a good idea, probably. “Got it recently?”

“Er, yeah. Just off a friend.”

“A friend, huh?”

“Nothing dodgy.” The rain drizzled miserably outside, and Maggie shivered. “Sure you don’t wanna head back in? Next round’s on me.”

“You can probably afford it.”

“What?”

“Your fat paycheck.” Alex advanced, so Maggie backed up against the wall. She’d seen this look in Alex’s eyes before: that dark pit of _nothing_ that was infinitely scarier than full-on fear or hatred. The void was worse than anything, and Maggie had been lucky enough to never be on the receiving end until now. “Big payments, right? Especially when you’re under Luthor employment.”

“Alex, I don’t—”

“I’m giving you one warning: _do not_ lie to me.”

“I’m not! I’m not working under Lillian Luthor.”

“I never specified which.”

“Well—”

“You’ll thank me for this,” Alex muttered, closing her eyes.

Maggie didn’t dare ask. Her heart thumped from its ribcage, a heady mix of fear and overwhelming love for the woman in front of her. It was like oil and water: these two things should not mix. Yet here she was, trapped against a wall by a woman she would give her heart to a thousand times over...

“We need to debrief you,” Alex said coldly.

“Debrief?”

The last thing Maggie registered before slumping down against the wall was the very prevalent thought that Alex might’ve broken her nose. And then it was all black.


	4. Walk the (Battered) Line

“I look like an abused dog. You’ve—fuck, you’ve got blood all over my shirt! My _white shirt_!”

“I forgot about your talent to whinge incessantly,” Alex said drolly. She did not appear amused, and Maggie’s mouth snapped shut. Maybe it was a bad idea to try and find a soft spot within a clearly furious and out-of-the-loop Alex Danvers when she’d just knocked you out.

She didn’t blame Alex. Getting fired was the official story, but she knew Alex had her hands on the unofficial one. Or, at least, _parts_ of the unofficial one—the parts that conveniently made Maggie look like a shittier person than usual. Maggie didn’t want to lie to herself. She was somewhat disappointed Alex hadn’t even questioned it. _Alex_ had been the one going all gung-ho on aliens’ asses the first time they met and Maggie had been the hippie Green Party for Alien Amnesty. She might as well have lit up a joint made of interstellar weed.

“I thought you wanted to debrief me.” Maggie held her hands up, ready for an arrest. Alex only rolled her eyes. Her hands remained firmly, unimpressed, on her hips. Silence fell awkwardly between them and Maggie leant back against the wall. Five pints and six shots of whiskey did not feel good.

“You think that’s what our relationship’s like now?”

“Why, what the hell do you think it is?”

It came out a lot sharper and nastier than intended. Maggie gritted her teeth, willing the fiery pits of anger to stop spitting up her oesophagus. And the problem was, whenever she spoke to Alex she could never really see anything except her face—that beautiful, strong face she’d fallen for the moment she’d been scolded for falling upon the supposed FBI’s jurisdiction. She watched as Alex’s stern frown instantly dropped into a surprised look of hurt, and she inhaled deeply. The blow was unexpected.

But Alex Danvers was a DEO agent. The walls were back up within milliseconds, and the ‘I’m not taking any shit from you today’ expression returned.

It was softer this time. “You used to tell me everything,” Alex said quietly.

Maggie noticed Alex’s left hand, resting on the holster of her gun, had fallen to its side. “I know.”

“What changed?”

“We called off our engagement. I threw myself into work. So did you. I messed up. You didn’t.”

“You know it’s not that simple—”

“But it is,” Maggie interjected forcefully. Alex quietened again. There was always a misconception that Maggie was the dominant personality and Alex was just a flimsy romantic with a DEO title to her name, but the reason Maggie loved Alex so much was that she proved those misconceptions wrong every single day. Sure, Alex’s idea of Valentine’s Day still made her want to gag, but that was Alex. A mess of contradictions, and it was _beautiful_. “You’ve never sucked at your job. You’re a fucking badass, Danvers.” Maybe it was the alcohol. “You’re a bigger badass than your sister, you know.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Then _tell me_ ,” Alex pleaded, moving forwards. She was sure Alex could smell the alcohol on Maggie’s breath, but she had Maggie backed up against the damp wall, unable to move. Alex _knew_ Maggie would never lay a finger on her; she’d never even try and force Alex out of the way. She was trapped, and the whiskey urged her to confess everything. After all, it was Alex.

The name Peter Johnson slammed that door shut on the possibility. Maggie could still remember, even through the haze of her drunken thoughts, the sheer panic and frustration she’d felt that day. She and Supergirl had somehow made the worst team possible, despite being the city’s superhero and also the city’s best cop. Whiskey told her to tell Alex about Cadmus; about the work she would have to do for Roulette.

The image that stayed with Maggie—and always would—of Alex, floating lifelessly in a tank of water, ensured her mouth stayed shut.

“I can’t.” It sounded pathetic. “It’s...It’s not what’s important.”

“Bullshit!” Alex smacked her palm against the wall, inches away from Maggie’s ear. “You didn’t just get fired from the NCPD. You’re up to something, and if you’ll let the DEO help you, _because it’s our fucking job,_ then tell me! I’m not letting you waltz into danger without giving you some sort of protection.”

“I get that!” _I’d do the same for you_. “But trust me, I really...I _really_ can’t.”

Kara had known by accident. She knew nobody could touch the Girl of Steel unless they had a crap-ton of Kryptonite, which Maggie already feared she’d find the deeper she dug into Cadmus. But Alex? Alex could handle torture, but Kara wouldn’t be able to handle Alex getting tortured. Maggie couldn’t. J’onn. Winn. James. Too many people cared about her, and whilst Alex was no vulnerable damsel in distress, it didn’t stop everyone else from behaving like one if Alex _ever_ found herself in a Peter Johnson situation again.

Maggie had to face it: she was alone. She couldn’t involve Kara for the fear of accidentally letting loose her identity, and because she had no idea what the fuck Cadmus was actually up to yet. The clever suspicion would be some sort of superweapon to stop the city’s hero.

And now Lillian had thrown her in with Lena. She wasn’t sure if it was a chess move or if she really did care for Lena’s welfare. But Kara was her friend; Alex respected her; Winn respected her...And the more time Maggie spent under her employment, the more she considered Lena Luthor as a friend to be trusted. She still had her suspicions about the information she could actually _tell_ Lena, but god forbid anything happen to any of them.

This was why Maggie could no longer rely on the DEO for security. She couldn’t rely on Lena. Not because they weren’t up to the task—but because Maggie refused to put them in harm’s way. Even if they could handle themselves, too many people cared about them.

Maggie didn’t feel she had that luxury. Maybe that was why Wong had selected her to assist the FBI.

“You still want kids anyway,” Maggie said out of nowhere. She apologised incoherently for the abruptness of the statement. “I can’t have you running around nearly getting killed when you’re gonna be a mother someday, Danvers.”

“Maggie...”

“You would have the _coolest_ Bring Your Parents to School Day,” Maggie laughed. There was no humour, not even from the half-assed laugh Alex let out too, as if to appease her. “Could you imagine?” She imitated a high-pitched kid’s voice. “ _My dad’s a nurse. He touches a lot of shit. Oh, my mom’s a lawyer, and she gets to go to court all the time. Well, my mom’s been on another planet_.”

Alex burst out laughing this time, and Maggie grinned at her sloppily. Yeah, the bitterness of the situation hadn’t faded and Maggie doubted it ever would. But seeing Alex laugh so freely for the first time in months, instead of that familiar scowl and look of displeasure and disappointment—it made Maggie’s heart drop down to its stomach.

Most people would describe it as their heart fluttering, but her heart only ached. Alex’s eyes creased at the corner in mirth, and Maggie missed the weekends she pulled Alex away from her morning exercise routine to tickle her until she couldn’t breathe from laughing; until they had their own alternative exercise routine...

Maggie’s lopsided smile faded as she watched Alex make some sort of comment that completely passed over her head. It was jokey, and Alex laughed again (at her own joke, which she always did and it was really lame).

Maggie only watched.

It felt like seeing a giant, fat rock of a diamond on a gold ring through a jeweller’s window, and knowing you’d never be able to afford it, but _damn_ , it was worth, for a moment, emptying your bank account for. Except this time, she was sure she’d give anything to make Alex laugh like this more often.

“You had a drink yet?” Maggie asked when Alex’s laughter subsided.

She shrugged. “One or two.”

“Want another? Game of pool, a pint of National City’s best, just like old times.”

“Maggie...”

“I get it, I get it.” This was neither the time nor the place for this conversation, but Peter Johnson didn’t win the fight in her brain this time. Whiskey did. “You wanted kids, Alex. Always have, and probably always will.”

“I wanted you too,” Alex confessed gently.

“I know, but we both know you can’t have it both ways. You really think I’d change my mind? I know _you_ , and if the situation was reversed, you’d never back down. You’re Alex fucking Danvers.”

“We shouldn’t have done it so suddenly. We should’ve waited. We should’ve babysat or something—”

“We’re stagnant.” Maggie swayed a little, and Alex gripped her forearm so she wouldn’t trip over something that looked like a pothole. _Seriously, this place. It’s so fucking grimy._ “Can’t move forwards, can’t move backwards.”

“I like to think of it as a phantom zone. No time passes. We’re just...there.”

“Fucking nerd.”

They both smirked at the familiarity of the comment. Maggie silently patted herself on the back from her diversion. She didn’t want to hear the words Cadmus, Lillian Luthor or Roulette mentioned again tonight. Then again, she wanted to spend hours and hours playing pool and talking shit with Alex. Unless she plied her with more booze (she knew Alex would never reject that) she was screwed. And the only fucking conversation topics she could think of were a) their break-up and b) stupid fucking children.

“We _can_ help you,” Alex promised Maggie suddenly. Maggie believed her intent. “Come into the DEO, and J’onn will help too. Whatever it is you’re stuck in, _please_ , Maggie, I’m not—look, I’m done playing bad cop with you. Just come in and we’ll sort things out.”

“It’s not as simple as that,” Maggie said stiffly. “I’m under instruction. Please, Alex, don’t ask me anything else.”

“Maggie, if you don’t tell me, I’ll have Winn working fifteen hour days just to crack—”

“You didn’t see yourself!” Maggie shouted, and Alex stumbled backwards. Okay, maybe she _had_ downed a beer or two. “What the _fuck_ do you think went through my mind when I saw you on that fucking laptop screen, and I had to keep talking about firsts and I couldn’t cry because you were being so fucking _you_ —all honourable and brave and shit—”

“Hey, hey, _please_ —”

“No, fuck off—I’m not done.” Maggie clenched her jaw, her eyes wide. Alex stood stock-still. Her face was ashen, and quietly, Maggie was rather impressed she could still get her words out. “I went against everything I fight for and I broke into fucking prison for you, because I was so selfish I couldn’t lose you, not even to justice. And then I see you floating, like—like—like you’re fucking _dead_ in that tank—and if you think for _one moment_ I will ever let you in on whatever shit you think I’m caught up in, you’re wrong. Because if that ever happens again, I refuse to let you be the bait. You can handle yourself, I know. But do you really think Kara can handle herself without you? What about me? All your friends? J’onn? Everyone? I can’t let you know, not because I don’t trust you, but because I can’t come half as close to losing you again—not like last time.”

“Maggie...”

“And one day, you’re gonna have a fucking kid, Danvers. A _kid_.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You will. But the thing is, you might even change your mind about it. You might have a change of heart. I don’t have the luxury of that. I’m always going to be stupidly in love with you, and I can’t have a change of heart about it. Ever.” _Maybe it’s a good thing Cadmus wants to rip my heart out and replace it with kryptonite_.

Everything had changed the moment Maggie had ranted away. Alex didn’t look so threatening anymore. She did, most of the time, to be fair—and she was the best fucking DEO agent around. The idea of dumbing her down was a ridiculous notion, even when in love.

But now, Alex looked like the Alex that had hesitantly walked through the doors on Valentine’s Day in that red dress, confused but silently, quietly in awe, a smidgen of hope on her face. There were many forms of Alex that Maggie loved. Her favourite was whenever she kicked the shit out of some guy twice the size of her.

This Alex, the Alex who was hesitant and gentle and so desperately wanted to say the right thing—she was a rarity. Alex said whatever came to her mind, but with Maggie, sometimes...Just sometimes, she’d tap into sensitivity. They were still point-blank with each other but Maggie loved her, and she loved her too much to allow her to struggle for any longer.

“It’s fine,” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes. “I’m gonna head off. Really tired.”

“Where are you staying?” Alex called out. Maggie knew it was a last-ditch effort to try and squeeze some info out of her. “If it’s dingy, I’ve got a couch—”

“It’s enough. See you around, Danvers.”

“Let me call you a cab.”

Maggie walked home in the drizzle.

 

* * *

 

Bad mistake.

Maggie woke up in a plush, familiar office. On the glass desk just to her right there were two bottles of still water, and a fancy tumbler. Her head had been propped up with cushions, and the entire setup was actually far comfier than the safehouse she currently resided in.

She blinked a few times and checked her watch. Half past seven in the morning. She supposed if she was in a hotel, she could have half a lie-in, shower, get changed, and...

“Oh,” she groaned, to herself. She was still in last night’s clothes, and her top reeked of stale beer. “What...?”

“Your friend dropped you off here. And no, we did not fuck.”

Maggie nearly toppled off the leather couch, horrified by the sound of someone else’s voice in the room. Luckily, it was only Lena Luthor behind her desk—and her voice was smooth as velvet. She arched her perfect eyebrow in amusement at Maggie’s hungover state, and tossed her some paracetamol, which Maggie took gladly.

“ _Fuck me_. Who dropped me off?”

“I don’t know,” Lena admitted. She was more focused on her laptop than Maggie. “Call him. He was a bald bloke with some strange-looking moustache. He came in a fancy black Land Rover. He thought it’d probably be best dropping you off here since, apparently, you don’t live in very good accommodation.”

“I can hear my neighbours fucking,” Maggie said dully. “Their headboard is right up against mine.”

This pricked Lena’s attention. “You’re on an excellent wage, Maggie. Let me rent you—”

“No,” Maggie said, too quickly. “I mean...You’re far too generous, Miss—er, Lena. But it is what it is.”

“Well, call your friend,” Lena said. “You still have an hour before your shift starts. And if one day you get tired of hearing your neighbours fucking so loudly, let me rent out one of my apartments for you.”

“Sure.”

“Just—one thing before you go...”

“Anything.”

“What—” Lena stared at her for a moment, and then shook her head. “Make your call. Then head home, grab a shower, and get some rest.”

 

* * *

 

Exhausted, Maggie trudged over towards the toilet and pulled her burner phone from her pocket. 23% battery and ten missed calls from Lockson. She sighed. She was not ready for today—despite Lena’s kindness. She still smelled of alcohol from last night, and she could still feel the heavy imprint of Alex Danvers weighing down on her chest. It was a heavy, horrible, distorting combination. Tired, she splashed her face with water and looked up at the mirror, ready to get a towel to wipe her face—and she froze.

Okay, now she knew what Lena had been staring at.

Her entire left eye was swollen and purple, as if she’d just been decked in the face. Her nose was slightly wonky, dried blood crusty underneath her nostrils and above her upper chin—but that was from when Alex had knocked her out. The rest? She didn’t have an idea. But as she glimpsed at her knuckles, red, raw and with skin peeling off some of them, she realised she must’ve gotten into a fight last night that she clearly lost.

Of _course_ she wanted to know what the hell was going on. But the only other person who knew that was Alex Danvers.

“Brilliant,” she muttered under her breath. She went over towards the disabled toilets and shut the door behind her, dialling the number she’d spent days memorising. It rung three times, and then: “Lockson?”

“Sawyer.” Lockson didn’t sound so merry in the morning. “You had a rough night.”

“Lena Luthor passes her thanks for seeing me back safely.”

“Learn anything from that alien bar of yours?”

Maggie was quite certain she wasn’t imagining the hostility in his tone. Was this dickhead anti-alien or something? Because he’d have a fight on his hands. A twinge in her chest reminded her of easy-going Hernandez; he’d only been maybe seven or eight years her senior, and he didn’t deserve to be gunned down like that. “Only that aliens can drink me under the table,” she lied easily. She’d been drinking alone. Even M’gann had shot her a few sympathetic looks. “Listen, if you’re debriefing me, Lockson, I just gotta say this disabled toilet echoes like shit—”

“A brief one.” Maggie smugly sensed the discomfort in his tone. “Well, more of a theory exchange.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Just think: we’re at _The Daily Planet_. You’re my editor. I’ve come to you, and I’ve said, _I think Supergirl is in league with Roulette and Cadmus_.”

Rather violently—in fact, _so_ violently she was sure she hacked up a lung—Maggie doubled-over coughing. She was quite sure the receptionist thought a genuine disabled person was having some sort of seizure in the toilet, but the ludicrousness of the statement was...well, it was something else. Lockson remained annoyingly silent on the other end, as if he couldn’t see _any_ amusement in this.

Oh, come _on_.

“Supergirl?” she said incredulously, laughing. She tried not to snort. “She’s been fighting them for—well, forever!”

“What if it’s a front?”

“What the fuck d’you mean, a front?”

“Think about it,” Lockson said gravely. Maggie covered the mouthpiece so she could snigger. Damn the room and its echo abilities. “The Medusa virus the Luthors attempted to deploy harmed every alien...except Supergirl, the Kryptonian. Does that not ring some sorta bell to you?”

And...

Well, yes, he was right.

Maggie chewed on her bottom lip. Her dehydrated, hungover mind was _not_ ready for Lockson’s no-nonsense bullshit, but what did this have to do with anything? Lockson didn’t have all the facts. Lillian Luthor had deployed the Medusa bomb—not Lena. Lena had been busy saving the day later on by creating a _lead_ bomb, and to be quite frank, Maggie did not miss the Daxamites at _all_. Sure, Mon-El’s mother was attractive, but she was also a fucking psycho...

“What do you know about the Medusa incident?” Maggie asked suddenly. She’d only been debriefed on it by J’onn and Alex a few days afterwards. As far as she knew, this was classified information. “I mean, how d’you know it wouldn’t have affected Supergirl?”

“FBI,” was all Lockson said.

Well. FBI. Yeah, that was kinda enough of an answer, to be honest.

“We need to unmask Supergirl,” Lockson said firmly. “If she was immune to Medusa, it’s not a coincidence. She was involved. Don’t let that innocent act fool you, Sawyer. I don’t need you keeping tabs solely on Cadmus. I want you on Supergirl’s tail.”

“She’s the hero of the fucking city, Lockson.”

“She’s a fucking alien.”

“And you’re the fucking FBI!”

“Follow my orders, Sawyer. I’m not messing about. You follow Lena Luthor like herpes. You follow Supergirl like alien herpes. And you report back to me—and only me. You got it?”

“Yes _sir_.”

She did not mention that Lena had given her the day off.

 

* * *

 

“Miss—er, Lena. Good morning.”

“Good morning, Maggie. You look terrible.”

“Hey—well, yeah, I know.”

Okay, so she’d _tried_. By the nature of the job, Maggie was required to wear a smart, all-black uniform. Hers involved black, skinny-style combat trousers with a long-sleeved, black basic top that had the L-Corp logo imprinted on her upper left hand side. Lena had attempted to explain how she’d cooperated with Nike to make it less sweaty or something that sounded vaguely scientific, and Maggie completely zoned out.

And half her face was black (and purple) too. Her punched eye had swollen to the size of a golf ball, and she assumed she’d received that _during_ her attempted walk home. The nose Alex had broken in the bar was free of dried blood, but it was ever so slightly crooked, and the bruising wasn’t a pleasant colour.

Today, she was grateful for Lena. She didn’t ask what happened, and she didn’t seem to care.

Awkwardly, because her job title was ‘personal bodyguard’, it meant—in Lockson’s words—sticking to Lena like herpes. The problem was, they spent the first half-hour in complete silence. The only noise Maggie was grateful for was the rapid key-tapping on Lena’s laptop.

“I know you’re better than this,” Lena said suddenly, not looking up from her screen. “You must’ve pissed off my mother if she stuck you here.”

“Federal Agent Hernandez was gunned down outside L-Corp, Lena. I’m sure she just wants you to be safe.”

“Hm. If you say so.”

“I...Pardon me, Miss?” Maggie caught onto her doubt quickly, and Lena looked up at her as if she had let something slip she shouldn’t have. She leant back in that executive leather chair of hers, and studied Maggie closely. Maggie felt as if she was being X-Rayed.

“If you’re going to ask me about my mother, I’d suggest you don’t.”

“I wasn’t—”

“But I _am_ concerned for your immediate health.” Lena stood up, and Maggie lost track of what was going on. Her immediate health? She was sure she could handle a hangover and a punched face. “Which is why I’m accompanying you to our medical faculty.”

“You have your own...”

“I’m rich, Sawyer. Get used to it.”

“Right.”

“We’re going to check your head,” Lena explained. “Just to...Make sure that punch didn’t damage anything.”

“It didn’t—”

“You don’t know until you look,” Lena intervened. Maggie fell silent. “Have you had any seizures lately? Black-outs?”

Maggie eyed her suspiciously. “One or two,” she lied.

“Then let’s go.”

This was not a routine check-up.

 

* * *

 

An X-Ray, a CT scan and an MRI scan later, Maggie and Lena sat side-by-side behind the radiation screen and dismissed the employees. They had print-outs, but Lena was doing something fancy on the computer. She could rotate the images, zoom in on certain points of interest—and right now, she was staring at the brain stem. Even Maggie could see it. Something was definitely lodged in there, and she remembered the surgery Dr. McMahon spoke of. She still sometimes subconsciously traced the fading scar.

“My mother did this to you?” Lena muttered, frowning at the screen.

“I believe a doctor did. But yeah, your mom.”

“And what is the intent?”

Maggie fiddled with her fingers. Lena Luthor was someone she desperately wanted to trust. She was not her mother, and she was ninety-nine percent sure her mother could not touch her. Or _would_ not. Lena latched onto the hesitancy. “I’m not the enemy,” Lena assured her.

“I know.” It came out quicker than she thought it would. She’d known all along Lena was not the enemy. But neither were Alex, Winn, J’onn, James, Kara...But they were all vulnerable, and half of them didn’t even know it. “She...ran a study on me. It was like they fabricated this world inside my head, like—Jesus, it was like the Sims or something. And I was their Sim. I thought they were using my memories, my subconscious—maybe they were—but none of it made sense. Nobody made sense. They weren’t themselves, and the only reason why it confused me so much was because I had no idea I’d been sedated, and I had no idea the world surrounding me was virtual.”

“She wanted something,” Lena said slowly. “Do you know what?”

“What do you think? I’ve worked with Supergirl. I worked for the NCPD. Corruption is everywhere; she can find cops she can trust...In my head! And if she thinks I know Supergirl’s identity, then that’s something she can find out without my knowledge. From me.”

“And _do_ you? Know Supergirl’s identity?”

“Do _you_?”

“Why would I know?”

“You two are always buddy-buddy,” Maggie murmured, and Lena laughed, a little flushed.

“She’s Supergirl. And it’s not every day a Luthor and a Super become friends.”

“How did you get on with Superman?”

“Super _girl_ is my friend,” Lena reaffirmed, and that was all Maggie needed to know. They smiled at each other. Mutual respect was high on the table. Lena recognised that Maggie was not just some silent muscle under her employment, and Maggie knew Lena wasn’t a pretty, rich face. She was an inventor; a scientist; an engineer. She was a fucking genius, and the more she spoke to Lena, the angrier she felt about how many people knew her surname rather than the amount of people who knew she’d actually saved the world with her lead bomb.

“I can’t take that neuroblocker out,” Lena said quietly. “It’s major surgery, and there’s not a chance people won’t catch wind of it.”

“I kinda expected it to be honest.”

“You’ll have to keep it in your pocket at all times, but if I can fry the blocker’s signal thus connection to your brain stem...I mean, that’ll disable the device. And I’ve missed inventing cutting-edge tech.”

Maggie rolled her eyes, but thanked her all the same. Lena was all charm and brains, and she could figure why Kara liked her so much. But as much as she cared for Lena, she was quite positive she would come to no harm—and so, surprising herself, really—Lena was the first to be on Maggie’s ‘I can fully trust them’ list. Kara barely counted—she could punch a 200lb guy and send him flying to Alaska.

“Here’s how it’d work,” Lena said unnecessarily. Maggie didn’t dare look at the diagram Lena had pushed over for a moment, because she knew she’d look like an idiot. Except it wasn’t a diagram. Lena watched her closely as Maggie’s eyes widened.

 _Mother might not trust you, but Roulette might. And I know her intimately. Tell me what you need_.

Maggie swallowed, and scribbled: _Recommend me for a trafficking route. Driver_.

“Done,” Lena said cheerfully, clapping Maggie on the shoulder. She took the piece of paper and stuck it in the shredder, watching the evidence vanish. “I’m sure I’ll have your report on your physical in no time.”

“Thank you. Really.”

Maggie didn’t trust easily. But Lena Luthor was a different thing altogether.

 

* * *

 

Breaking into vans was no difficult task. All Maggie required were a few minutes and a balaclava. In the dead of the night, she popped the black casement around the outside to expose the key. Grabbing a pair of pliers from her duffel bag, it took her a couple of twists before the van was unlocked and she could clamber into the back. This was going to become a regular occurrence. Maggie was beginning to feel the need to have a look inside and whatever she was transporting. Emptiness indicated passengers the next day. Tonight, it was a giant collection of prototype weapons she would never be able to carry.

Still, it was evidence. And she was still a cop. Quickly, she snapped pictures from every angle possible and hopped back out. She was never given a key to the van she was driving until the day of the mission, but loose conversation with one of Roulette’s men had led him to inadvertently reveal which van she’d be driving. “Not that fucking Ford Transit again,” had been his exact words. Maggie wondered if, to this day, he knew he’d let that slip and she’d picked it up. He’d been complaining to the general room of about twenty other men, too...

It was weird. She’d gone the entire day without actually speaking. She never spoke to the men, and nothing much had happened anyway. There was no meeting with Lockson, and because Roulette required her for some reason (clearly to chill with her grunts) she’d been relieved from Lena’s employment. She regretted it already. Even walking home was a silent affair. She’d lost her iPod ages ago, and—

“I thought we said no contact,” Maggie muttered, swivelling to squint at an offer on a second-hand laptop through a shop window.

“Desperate times.” It was Captain Wong in the adjacent alley, hidden in the darkness. Maggie continued to look at the Dell. “You’re UC, Sawyer. You’ve spilled the beans already?”

This almost made her lose attention and her head nearly snapped to face Wong. “Excuse me?” _Fucking Kara..._

“An _Alex Danvers_ from the FBI marched into the precinct not long ago,” Wong muttered back. He made no effort to hide how pissed off he was. Maggie’s stomach clenched, though she snickered softly at the thought of her pulling out her fake FBI badge again. “Apparently, she wanted to know why I’d taken you off your joint cases with the Bureau.”

“What did you say?”

“I told you I fired you. The same story I told everyone else.”

“She won’t believe you. She’ll carry on investigating.”

“I know. That’s why I came to warn you. Watch yourself.”

“You know I will.”

“Be careful.”

Maggie closed her eyes. She’d had a long day, ironically the most knackered she’d been in a while—and she’d done fuck all. “I am sick of being telling me to be careful.”

“Are you sick of people asking you what the flying fuck happened to your face?” Wong asked.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “None of this is relevant to the mission and nor does it jeopardise it. Leave it.”

For a moment, she thought Wong was going to slap her across the face for being a stubborn arse. She probably deserved it. Instead, she heard Wong sigh heavily in the darkness, and specks of guilt sparked in her chest. She didn’t mean to be difficult—maybe she’d been hanging around Roulette’s bunch for too long. But this was something she didn’t want to share. She could see Wong’s outline nod slowly, and the pressure on her chest lifted itself: someone at least cared enough to respect her wishes.

“If you need anything— _anything_ ,” Wong said quietly, “Tell Lockson. Even if you need it from me. He’ll pass it on, okay?”

“Got it.”

“The safehouse? Everything okay?”

“Hasn’t been traced; nobody’s followed me home. It’s a shithole, but at least it hasn’t killed me yet.”

“I’m a phone call away,” Wong said, before leaving.

Except he wasn’t. The only contact Maggie was supposed to have was with Lockson. The rest were hers to spy on; Kara had been an accident; Alex was a bomb waiting to go off, and Maggie needed to figure out which wire to cut. The closer Alex inched towards an investigation, the quicker she knew she’d tell the DEO to either pull her out or to intervene. With the progress she was making with Roulette and Lillian (Lillian, not so much) she couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t let Alex fall into enemy hands, either. And she _knew_ Alex wouldn’t give her a choice.

 

* * *

 

She didn’t.

“How the hell did you find me?” The fear in Maggie’s voice was real—it wasn’t fear of Alex (well, five percent of it was), but if Alex could track Maggie, then... “I’ve made sure—”

“Shut up.”

“Hey, you’re—”

The sight of Alex’s gun pointed directly at her chest snapped Maggie’s mouth shut immediately. Alex acted as if it was the most blasé thing ever, but it didn’t take long for Maggie to catch on. Even before they’d fallen for each other—officially—they’d been able to read each other silently. Alex stowed her gun away when Maggie gave her a discreet nod, and she unlocked the door.

“You want answers,” Maggie muttered to her. It wasn’t a question.

“Sweep first,” Alex murmured back. “I’ll interrogate you afterwards.”

Fair play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your kind and constructive notes! NB: I posted a timeline of sorts (very basic) in the comments bit of the last chapter, but just to inform you, ch.3 was the last chapter to have timejumps. From now it's foot on the gas pedal and full steam ahead. ;) Thank you!


	5. Playing the Enemy

Maggie was never really a submissive type of person, but in this case, she held back. Her nose was still _slightly_ crooked (and her bitterness was far above ‘slight’) from when Alex had knocked her out the other night. So instead of helping Alex sweep her apartment for bugs and hidden cameras, she leant against the front door and poured them both a glass of scotch. She even folded her arms and set her face into a ‘flat, unimpressed but observant’ look for added effect.

“That’s some deep cleaning you’re doing there,” Maggie said casually as she sipped her whiskey. Alex, sprawled over the sofa as she inspected the bottom of each, turned her head a fraction to scowl at her. Maggie would’ve later lamented that her effort to _not_ inspect the perfect curvature of Alex’s backside as a mere six out of ten. Well. Five point five. “Really thorough.”

“You could help. Just a suggestion. It’s not like you don’t know how to clean.”

“You made it very clear when you bossed your way into my apartment that you were in charge.”

“Yeah, and I’m _ordering_ you to give me a fucking hand.”

“I poured you some whiskey for your hard work. I even got a decanter like you wanted me to.”

“Aww.”

Maggie stopped then, taking another sip of her whiskey. This time, it was simply to masquerade the fact that she didn’t really know how to respond. So far, since their break-up, Alex had used her determination to play a game of pool to lure her outside; she’d _knocked her out_ ; and now she was forcing herself into Maggie’s safehouse, refusing to tell her how she’d tracked her down, and was silently sweeping the place for bugs.

Twenty-five minutes later of replacing the word ‘camera’ with ‘Snapchat’ and ‘surveillance’ with ‘Celebrity Big Brother’, Alex popped up from behind one of Maggie’s shelves in the hallway. In her hand was a small, ear-bud sized microphone, and they stared stupidly, silently, at it for a few minutes.

Maggie took it, and launched it out the window.

“Was that the only, er, spider you found?” she asked.

“Think so. Pretty much disinfected the place.”

“Thank God.” Maggie flopped down onto her couch with her whiskey, closing her eyes. She lazily gestured for Alex to do the same, slightly disappointed, slightly embarrassed that Alex simply perched on the edge of the couch instead of sprawling right across. _Right. Times have changed, Sawyer._ But she _was_ grateful. She didn’t need Alex coming in here sweeping her flat for bugs; she wasn’t even sure _where_ Alex had gotten the intel of this location from. She wondered if she’d throttled Captain Wong or something. It would not be beyond Alex Danvers.

Alex took a swig of her whiskey. “You’re in a safehouse, Maggie,” she said, stating the obvious. Except the intent this time was not to clarify a point: it was to make sure Maggie didn’t grimace.

Maggie kept her face emotionless.

“Appropriately, it’s the safest place for me right now,” she tried to jest.

“The safest place for you would be in the DEO.”

“I think you’re forgetting something: I...” _Oh, shit_.

“What?”

Alex’s voice was so sharp that it would’ve sliced through steel. Maggie shuddered, the hairs on the back of her neck pricking up. She never let her guard down, and she’d even one night gone out for drinks with the guys and still woke up as Maggie Smithson, no cover blown. Less than an hour with Alex, half a glass of whiskey and a bug sweep later, she’d almost let the word ‘undercover’ tumble from her mouth. _Almost_.

She could still lie. She was a good liar, if anything.

“I got fired from the NCPD,” Maggie said flatly, “And now I’m Lena Luthor’s personal bodyguard. Not the kind of ethical transition I’d make, job-wise, but it’s what was going. How do you think that looks on me? Not just in front of the public, but with the DEO?”

“The DEO trusts Lena,” Alex argued.

“No, Supergirl trusts Lena. Kara trusts Lena. Because she’s only ever Lena. The DEO know it’s Lena _Luthor_.”

“I don’t care if the DEO thinks she’s Lena or Lena Luthor—quit dancing around the subject,” Alex snapped. Maggie clenched her jaw, cursing the shittiness of her lie, and covered it up by taking another sip of whiskey. “The point is, Maggie, _you’re being watched_.”

“Hey, in this surveillance state of ours, we’re all being—”

“Don’t be so blasé about it,” Alex said. The anger dissipated from her face almost instantly, and her normally back-board straight posture slumped in defeat. “Maggie, someone planted a fucking bug at your place. I know you. I know you wouldn’t let that happen unless you were involved in some deep shit. You told me you never wanted to see me near-death again, and I _won’t be_. But have you ever thought about it the other way?”

Maggie paused, taking a moment to try and shake the memory of what that scumbag had done to Alex all those months ago. It wasn’t easy. She couldn’t just take Alex’s optimistic promise of it never happening again, because if Alex was dynamite ready to go off—Lillian knew who to target to hurt her—then surely Maggie was the match ready to be lit.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you honestly think I’d let _any_ harm come to you?” Alex slid off the arm of the sofa so she sat next to Maggie. The couch was far too small, and their knees bumped. “Maggie, I can’t—if you ever—I’d never forgive myself. I can’t let you endanger yourself, no less endanger yourself and not tell me what it is.”

“I don’t need you watching over me, Alex.”

“Clearly, you do! Did you even think to sweep for bugs when you came in?”

“Yes!” Maggie lied.

“Alright, then—”

“You should leave,” Maggie said suddenly. Alex froze, a disbelieving eyebrow quirking upwards as she silently questioned Maggie. “You said it yourself. This place has been bugged. Someone’s obviously watching me. I can’t risk someone catching me with a DEO agent sharing a bottle of scotch.”

“Bullshit.” Alex stood up furiously, pacing up and down the room. Maggie remained rooted to her seat. Pacing was a good sign of Alex Danvers thinking and being mad about what she was thinking. “The curtains are drawn. We’ve swept for cameras. We’ve swept for bugs. Maybe they’ll come in and do it again, but nobody’s got eyes on us now.”

“Yeah, well, it’s—it’s not safe to be here. There could be eyes on us at the entrance.”

“What is it? Why d’you want to kick me out of the house so bad?”

“What didn’t you get through your thick head? The fact that I don’t want you killed or the fact that _I really don’t want you killed_? I can’t tell you _shit_ , Alex, not because I don’t trust you, but because I cannot—I _will not_ —put you through any more shit.”

Okay—that was it. Maggie set aside her scotch, feeling her cheeks heat up as anger pulsated through her. It didn’t matter that Alex’s point was valid. All that mattered was _Alex_.

“It goes both ways,” Maggie shot back. “You think _I_ want _you_ getting hurt?”

“I’m sorry, Maggie, but when the day comes and you decide to tell me what I’m actually at risk from, and then maybe I can better protect myself.”

“Oh—really? Really? So you’ll just hibernate inside the DEO forever?”

“What— _what_? What kind of shit...?”

“The kind of shit where I don’t want anyone to lay a fucking finger on you.” It came out so coldly, so naturally, as if Maggie had practiced it. The thick feeling of nausea rising rapidly up her chest to the back of her throat felt oddly like fear, and she blinked hard, unwilling to tear her gaze away from Alex. She’d realised she’d backed Alex up against the couch. And Maggie was short in stature, but she was not short of pent-up emotion.

“Maggie...”

It came out in a whisper. “I can’t let them hurt you.”

“Them? Who’s _them_?”

“Alex, please. If you give a damn about me...If you give a damn about yourself, or protecting your sister—” She knew Alex would never agree to simply saving herself, the fucking altruistic hero—and it gnawed at Maggie’s chest that she had to throw Kara in there for leverage. “Please don’t ask me anything else.”

“I’m worried about you.”

Maggie could tell Alex was not lying. She’d known Alex long enough, intimately enough, to know all the secret under-passages through her steely walls. Alex Danvers was a fortress, but Maggie was her ruin. Alex closed her eyes, resting both palms against the head of Maggie’s couch, and dipped her head down. Her usually straight posture—trained by so many years of athleticism and fighting—slumped over in defeat.

“I will call if I need help,” Maggie lied. She stared at the floor as she said it. “I can’t involve you, Alex.”

“I can handle myself.”

“I know you can. That’s not the issue.”

“I know.” Alex had clearly received Maggie’s message loud and clear. _I know you can kick ass Danvers, but if you think I, or Kara, or J’onn, or Eliza, or anyone else can function knowing you’re in danger—again—then you’re horribly mistaken_. “But Maggie...You’re not alone.”

“It feels like it,” Maggie admitted. “And to be fair, it’s of my own volition.”

“You can go on this mission or whatever alone. But _you_ are not alone.”

Maggie swallowed hard. Oh, it had felt like mere seconds ago she would be allowed to cup Alex’s angular, gorgeous face in her hands and kiss her until the sun came up. And simultaneously, it felt like an absolute age ago when she could finally bring herself to admit that Alex truly cared about her, and vice versa.

She still remembered their first kiss, the one in the dive bar. She could remember the shock sizzling down her spine, and the shock wasn’t just from the unexpected nature of the kiss, but also because of the unexpected ‘ _I think I want to kiss her back_ ’ that shuddered throughout her body.

It scared her.

Maybe she had been a coward that night, and as of right now, it wasn’t worth it. Maggie glanced away, dipping her head to stare furiously at the floor.

This was pure DEO business. She knew that. But when Alex still looked at her with those eyes still so full of love and adoration, how could she think about anything else? How could she not force herself to beat herself up because the likelihood was—Alex was over her already?

Women like Alex Danvers didn’t stay single for long.

“Alex...” Maggie’s voice was a lot hoarser than she’d expected. She cleared her throat self-consciously. “Trust me when I say I know what I’m doing. Trust me when I say I’ll _tell_ you if I’m in over my head.”

“You’d be reporting to me,” Alex pointed out. “Your pride and over-protectiveness would never...”

“Then I’ll call Kara. The DEO _will_ be kept in the loop. I just need you to trust me.”

“ _I_ trust you—”

“Alex.” Maggie clenched her jaw, just as Alex reached forward to take her hand and give her a gentle, reassuring squeeze. The gesture meant nothing but comfort, though Maggie still desperately craved this kind of intimacy from Alex on a daily basis. She _missed_ those mornings where the sunlight would filter through the blinds and they’d roll over in bed and kiss and kiss and kiss until both were scrambling to make work on time (it never happened). “Whatever— _whatever_ —I do, or I end up doing, _please_ just know I’m not doing this because my head’s warped by Cadmus.”

“We’d still need to debrief you,” Alex said instantly. She was back to business. “How many Cadmus converts do you think have come back to us with that line?”

“You _know_ me—”

“I know,” Alex cut in. “That’s what scares me.”

Maggie opened and closed her mouth, lost for words. She could not deny Alex’s reasoning, but the humiliation that burned on her cheeks still felt the same. It was horrible. Strong or weak, she was equally prone to whatever measures Cadmus would take in order to turn her. She had Cadmus _inside her head_. Literally. And the thought of endangering the DEO—of endangering _Alex_ —was starting to make her want to pull out of this operation.

Alex fidgeted, and Maggie looked down at their still-clasped hands. It took a few moments until she felt something slide into her palm, and Alex covered her hand with both of hers, squeezing.

“James Olsen’s watch,” Alex explained. Maggie wondered if it came with a manual. “Please.”

Maggie hoped she’d never have to use it. “I’ll bring it back safe and sound.”

“No...” Alex inched a little closer. Maggie tensed. “Just make sure _you_ come back safe and sound.”

“I can’t promise that.”

“Then try harder.”

 _Typical Alex Danvers_ , Maggie thought with a quirk of her lips, and Alex smiled hesitantly back at her. She supposed Alex Danvers was not the type of person to let anyone die under her watch anyway, even if they were three thousand miles apart and she had no control or authority. Alex would think of some way to extract them. Supergirl could fly around and shoot lasers from her eyes, but Alex could beat up a gigantic bunch of dudes and still not break a sweat. Maggie knew who she felt safer around.

“You need to stay away, Danvers,” Maggie warned her. Alex didn’t deflate; she expected this. “The closer you associate—”

“I know. But if you thought I was just gonna ignore this—”

“Of course not. Just...Please be careful. _Please_.”

“Promise.”

 

* * *

 

Maggie woke up the next day with a severe hangover. The five empty bottles of red wine sitting on her desk, with two large wine glasses, were a pretty obvious hint. Right next to the flower vase there was a crumpled up note. It was cheesy as fuck, but all it said was:

“ _See you around, Sawyer_.”

Maggie smiled anyway.

 

* * *

 

Undercover life yo-yo’d from watching Alex Danvers do her job and feeling a twinge of guilty attraction lurking in her stomach, or biking home after a long day of witnessing Lillian Luthor’s torture methods on specific subjects.

“They’re usually fit, young and healthy,” Lillian had told her. She made no attempt to hide the fact that she was eyeing Maggie up, and until Maggie proved herself useless as Roulette’s getaway driver and Lena’s bodyguard, she knew she’d have that Kryptonite shoved into her chest just like Metallo.

“Where do you get them from?” Maggie trusted to cover her disgust.

“Off the streets. In dive bars. Fight clubs—Roulette has been an excellent resource.”

“And they’re strictly aliens?”

“Aliens with nothing else to live for. Yes, we experimented with humans, but certain species are just more receptive. And if you ask the majority of the alien populace, you’ll find Alien Amnesty isn’t such a popular concept, despite the papers reporting the liberation of America under our altruistic President.”

“Depends on where you take your survey. _The majority_ of the alien populace can’t be spoken for.” _By you_.

“You’re right,” Lillian said, smiling humourlessly at her. “But how many aliens live in National City, Miss Sawyer? Have you counted? Even the unlisted ones? How many of them do you think support the President, and how many of them do you think want a better, more profitable life by using the extent of their powers—as they were born to?”

“You’re _using_ them.”

“Yes. And they’re using my time.”

“They’re not dogs, ma’am.”

“And you aren’t a cop anymore,” Lillian said coolly. It was very calmly delivered. Her tone of voice sounded as if she was ordering an Americano from the coffee shop around the corner. But the underlying menace didn’t escape Maggie—she was a friggin’ cop after all—and she stiffened slightly. If suspicion radiated like heat, she could feel the side of her head being excruciatingly torched.

“No,” Maggie said firmly. “I’m not.”

“You know, Roulette has always been very easy to give away her trust.”

“You aren’t, I assume?”

“No. But we’re...” Lillian scoffed, “ _Partners_.”

Everything Lillian said and did indicated the opposite. In a tangled web of lies, deceit and crimes against humanity—and alien life—Lillian Luthor was the most unapologetic, stone-cold bitch Maggie had ever met. And she’d dealt with some real, atrocious _pricks_ in her life. Lillian and Roulette were enough to shake the DEO. Paired together, they probably had connections or inside information in every single legal department and important, rich company within National City. And Maggie assumed, without Roulette’s knowledge, that Lillian was playing her just like she played everyone else. Lillian was Cadmus; Roulette was the money front.

“I know how punctual you are,” Lillian said, far too sweetly. She slipped Maggie a piece of paper. “You’re a good driver, I hear.”

“I know how to escape shitty situations as quickly as possible.”

“Then yes, you’re a good driver. Don’t be late.”

“I won’t.”

“You’re two minutes late.”

“ _What_?”

Maggie stared at the piece of paper Lillian had given her, only briefly catching the older woman’s smirk before dashing off towards the garage. _Fucking Lillian Luthor_. She had much worse words she wanted to call her, but the fact that there was a van-full of potential weapons in the back that needed transporting, that _Lillian_ had set her up to fail for, was driving her heart-rate through the roof. Clumsily, she tumbled into the driver’s seat and screeched out of the driveway, internally wishing she didn’t hold Lena Luthor in high-esteem so she could just wave a massive sign saying ‘ _Fuck you, Luthors_ ’.

Angrily, she shoved Lillian’s post-it note—detailing not only this route, but the next one too, in two days’ time. It was slightly more complicated, and she had a feeling she would not be trusted enough to be left alone. Speaking of which...

“Anyone alive at the back?” Maggie called out uncertainly, taking her foot off the accelerator pedal for a moment. Nothing. “Hello?”

She was beginning to have a feeling she was sitting in a van with weapons only—and that rarely happened. Usually, some idiot grunt would have to check the functionality constantly in case the van exploded out of careless driving or a particularly rough speed-bump. Sometimes, she had a team of four or five guys in case the police followed them, or anyone else. Maggie had never driven alone before.

Nobody had driven alone before.

“ _Shit_!” Maggie yelled expletive after expletive as she violently swerved to the left, her brakes screeching as she avoided the bright purple light of a photocannon being aimed at the vehicle. “ _Fuck_!”

What the _fuck_?

Oh, she _knew_ what was going on—but she couldn’t believe the fucking cheek of it. And she was _undercover_. Kicking open the passenger seat door with the heel of her boot, Maggie dove out from the vehicle and scrambled around the back. She hadn’t been thinking. Lillian had unnerved her so much this morning she hadn’t even asked the usual questions about where she was headed, who the buyer was, and what or who she was transporting. Instead, she had a scrumpled post-it note of the next driving route, which she’d already memorised in her head, and had totalled the van. It was completely ruined, serving only as a shield.

“I don’t wanna do this!” That was Jeremy, one of Cadmus’ junior grunts. He looked barely twenty, but Maggie knew he’d been the one to fire the cannon.

“You think that’s some kinda toy?” Maggie snarled. She glanced around for Jeremy’s fellow dickheads, but she couldn’t see amongst the trees. “Give me that fucking gun before you shoot yourself in the face with it.”

“Maggie...”

“Was that the first time you ever fired one?” Maggie asked. She did not elaborate on the fact that she was no expert either. “Hm?”

“...Yes.”

“Then give it to me. Jesus, Jeremy, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Following orders,” he said hastily. “Maggie, I’m sorry, but orders came—”

“From higher up,” Maggie finished for him, dully. “I get it. But don’t fire that gun. Give. It. To. Me.”

“I can’t. I’m—”

“I covered for you,” Maggie said lowly. She hated playing cards like this, but it had become a necessity. Give a colleague—especially a rookie—a get out of jail free card, and then reveal later on that she’d added interest on the concept of ‘free’. “You fucked up with our cargo load last month, remember? Yeah?” she added forcefully, satisfied when he nodded rapidly, his cheeks burning red. Her chest twinged in guilt. “Unless you want that spilling to the boss you give so much of a shit about, you’ll give the gun to _me_.”

“You said you wouldn’t say anything,” Jeremy pleaded with her.

Maggie swallowed her guilt. “That was before you nearly shot me.”

“Maggie, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not here for apologies. I’m here to take the gun. Hand it over, Jeremy.”

It didn’t take much convincing. Jeremy needed medical attention more than he needed the gun, so when Maggie sprinted over to help apply pressure to a bleeding shoulder wound, he didn’t notice—or particularly care—when she swiped his gun. Whatever had happened, one thing was clear: Jeremy wasn’t here by chance. Firstly, he was far too junior to just be wandering around the woods with a top-level weapon alone. Secondly...

“They think you’re fucking with them,” Jeremy confessed, groaning in pain as Maggie made a makeshift sling. “Vidal’s in charge of the SUV. He rammed into you from the side. I dunno where they are right now.”

“Why are you the only one?”

“Maggie...”

Maggie pressed harder against his wound, internally squirming as Jeremy yelled in pain. “Maggie, I can’t—” Another hard push, and Jeremy was screaming, his breath spurting out in heavy pants.

“I can do this all day,” she said calmly.

“Vidal didn’t want it getting back to him!” he blabbed. “I’m disposable, and besides, he works up close and—ah shit, look, Maggie— _argh_!”

“You have a choice,” Maggie said lowly, “You either tell me everything about why I’m being turned against, including what you nearly let slip, and I’m going to stop doing this—” She balled her hand into a fist and drove her knuckles against his wound, deaf to his pleas of mercy. “It’s a continual cycle of that, and then I will take this towel away for a wash, and you’ll bleed to death.”

“Please, Maggie. I’m just a kid. Please.”

“I know, which is why I’m giving you a chance.” Jeremy was right: he was _twenty_. He’d been mixed up in the wrong shit. In any given situation, a social outreach system would’ve gotten to him by now. He’d never been vicious or malicious to her, or to anyone, even the aliens—but clearly something had drawn him in. The money, maybe. The money for what, though? Jeremy was single, lived alone...

 Her eyes briefly glimpsed the track marks on his arms, and she glanced away. Casually, she pulled out a full box of codeine 60’s, spare from her surgery, from her pocket and waved them at Jeremy. “Nothing like what you’re shoving in your veins, but a decent buzz if you take enough,” she said. “How long before they come looking for you to make sure you’ve got me?”

“Vidal’s car is literally coming around the corner. He’s Mrs. Luthor’s bodyguard, Maggie. He’s untouchable.”

“Then you’d better run.”

“I can’t _run_.”

“You’re right. Probably not the best idea. But Vidal will kill you if he finds out you told me.”

“You won’t--?”

“No, but I _am_ sorry.”

“For what?”

“For this.” Maggie punched Jeremy in the throat, not hard enough to kill him, but enough so he stumbled backwards in pain. Quickly darting forwards, she kneed him in the groin and as he doubled-over, crouched slightly so she could deliver a swift uppercut to his chin, hearing a loud groan of pain and then silence. Poor lad. Slowly, she caught him before he smacked against the ground and dragged him into the back of the van.

Maggie took a pitiful look at him. Then her watch. She had about thirty seconds before—

The screech of tires swerving violently around a sharp bend indicated Vidal and she poked her head through the curtains inside the wrecked van to find an black SUV parked on the opposite side of the road. Before the car had even stopped, five masked men hopped out, holding weapons she really did not want to be on the end of. Without thinking, she grabbed Jeremy’s photocannon and hoisted it above her shoulder, seriously hoping she looked as if she knew what she was doing.

“Vidal,” she snapped loudly, realising the road had been blocked off. Lillian’s doing, no doubt. “What the _fuck_ are you doing?”

“Eliminating traitors,” Vidal sneered back. “Word’s on the street that you’re blabbing to the authorities.”

“Well, I can say, _authoritatively,_ you’re wrong.”

“Prove it, bitch.”

Maggie powered up the photocannon, smirking at the way Vidal’s eyes widened. Each of his men raised their gun, and Maggie was acutely aware this was a bluff she was not going to get lucky with. Five men, plus Vidal, in some sort of O.K. Corral shootout...With just her on the other side.

“That’s not a very fair distribution now, is it, boys?”

 _Oh, shit_.

Maggie would know that voice anywhere. Slowly, she looked up to face Kara—well, Supergirl—in front of her, her signature pose of hands-on-hips in full force. Not even the dense forestry could block some of her egotism, and Maggie wanted to gag. It felt like smog. Still, she shrugged her shoulders and held her hands up, fully aware that Jeremy’s weapon was still in her right hand.

“What’s this?” Vidal laughed. “Maggie, you got your girlfriend to come and defend you, huh?”

“I should shoot you for even saying that, you prick,” Maggie snapped, backing slowly into the cover of the woods. Supergirl drifted above them, watching the situation intensely—and then Maggie quickly turned the photocannon on her. “ _Bastard_!” she yelled aloud as it took about fifty years to power up, before she aimed and shot at Supergirl, who’d flown into the woods for cover. The force of the shot knocked her onto her back before she scrambled instantly to her feet, staring back at Vidal. “What the fuck are you waiting you, you fucking idiot?”

Vidal was being Vidal—preoccupied with bossing his team about. She was pretty sure he was in football manager mode but Maggie had already sprinted into the woods. The photocannon was heavy as fuck, and she paused for a moment, utterly lost. “Oi,” she whispered.

There was a distinct whoosh. She couldn’t _see_ Kara—she suspected she was keeping out of sight of Vidal—but Maggie upped the pace as she ran through the dense forestry. “Same photocannon as last time,” she mumbled under her breath, “the one I shot you with. There’s no Kryptonite in there, is there?”

“No—just caught me off-guard,” Maggie heard.

“Vidal’s on my ass—”

“Stomach. Looks a bit more dramatic.”

Sometimes, Maggie wondered if she was in some sort of dark comedy. By the time she heard the others and their loud-ass voices, she’d already powered up the photocannon and paced carefully through the forestry, as if she was in the Marines tracking someone. Her knees crouched low, careful not to make a sound against the crunch of leaves—even though this was useless against Supergirl, anyway. By the time Vidal and his stormtroopers had caught up, she shushed them.

“Heard something?” Vidal whispered.

“We need to backtrack,” Maggie said urgently. “I reckon she’s lured us to go for the vans.”

Complete bullshit, yet somehow completely logical. For a moment, Maggie was rather impressed with herself until the fatigue of sprinting through woods and jumping over logs, occasionally tumbling over uneven surfaces, caught up with her—quickly. It was right at the edge of the woods when Supergirl flew into view, and without a second thought, she blasted the photocannon, flattening Supergirl.

Vidal and the rest of the crew stood on the sidelines, stunned. Maggie, instead, sprinted over and grabbed a weakened Supergirl by the cuff of the collar, muttering a ‘sorry’ as she bent her head down, her right fist going to deck Supergirl in the face.

“Ah, _motherfucker_!” she swore. It was literally like trying to punch through a brick wall. To her credit, Supergirl seemed as smug as anything, but in that time, Maggie had already slipped the planned coordinates of the next route under the collar of Supergirl’s uniform. Maggie staggered backwards, knowing her hand would likely swell up within minutes, and she barked at Vidal, “ _What are you waiting for?_ ”

Vidal was speechless. “I—”

“Useless,” Maggie said angrily, and she _was_ legitimately angry. She’d done nothing that had been leaked—she was pretty damn sure of it. Yet Lillian Luthor had dispatched this useless bunch of idiots to kill her off? Or send her some sort of strict warning? Without hesitation, she dropped the photocannon to the floor and pulled out her gun, tucked into the back of her jeans, and pointed it straight at Vidal. His men instantly raised their weapons, but he silently told them to drop them. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t be the one trying to ram you off the road.”

“Because you passed, Miss Sawyer,” came that _bitch’s_ voice. _Fuck her_. Clenching her jaw, she took one look at Vidal, who only had helplessness in his eyes. Ever so slowly, she swivelled to face Lillian Luthor, stepping regally out of the van Vidal had driven in. “Clearly, I underestimated you.”

“Clearly, you didn’t trust me,” Maggie sniped back.

“I don’t trust anyone, initially.”

“Then tell me,” Maggie said, raising her gun again. This was a risky move, she realised about a millisecond after her arm started rising. Lillian’s face did not move. “Why shouldn’t I just kill you now? You tried to kill _me_.”

“Oh, Miss Sawyer, I know you well enough now to know you’d rather put a bullet through an alien’s head than a human’s. Don’t worry. You’ll get your chance.”

Maggie thought carefully about that sentence and internally punched the air. Undercover operation score: 1. Lillian Luthor’s score: 0.

 

* * *

 

As if to make up for Hernandez’s fondness for food, the next time Lockson met up with her, he brought along some sort of Domino’s pizza meal deal which Maggie eagerly tucked into. He didn’t even whinge about her hogging the garlic dip—though she _did_ notice that there was an air-freshener hanging from the rear-view mirror and a can of it too by her seat.

“I’ve won Lillian Luthor’s trust,” Maggie said, careful not to show too much excitement at stuffed crust. “There was a standoff today. I made Vidal look like a fucking idiot.”

Lockson laughed. “And Supergirl? I’m assuming she showed up?”

“Like a hero, as per usual.”

“Still no clue on her identity?”

“Nah, she’s...” Maggie was an excellent liar sometimes, “She must be pretty good at hiding it. There’s probably some sort of Kryptonian face-changing tech that we know nothing about.

Maggie waited in awkward silence as Lockson jotted his notes down. She could not help but compare the two Federal Agents. Hernandez had always been a lot more relaxed, and jokey in the way he was ‘lazy’. He obviously wasn’t, being an FBI agent, but they chatted, exchanged pleasantries, bought food for each other—and it got to a point where she wondered if his charm was all part of a grander scheme, that he was the mole all along. Maybe he’d been gunned down the moment Lillian Luthor knew the authorities were onto him. It was the only thing that made sense. That, and the importance of shutting down Project Cadmus.

“Cadmus changes people,” Lockson said, after he’d written everything down. “Which is why I don’t want to keep you undercover for too long, Sawyer. You’re a good cop—a brilliant one.”

“Keep me as long as it takes,” Maggie said earnestly. “I’m not a turncloak.”

“They all say that at the beginning.” To be fair, Lockson’s tone was soft—and Maggie understood him completely. Lillian Luthor’s persona was so all-consuming that it was impossible, even if she did spew vile every time she spoke, to not be captivated by her presence. It was just incredible. “Just be careful. Be careful who you talk to; who you share your information with; who might be around to overhear, who you’d never suspect.”

“Guess it’d be difficult busting Cadmus if the best cop in the city died trying, huh?”

Lockson quirked a rare smile and Maggie grinned back. It seemed like Lockson was a case of thawing ice; at first, he was so professional it physically hurt. He still remained much more professional than mayonnaise-all-over-his-pants Hernandez, but it’d taken him much longer to grow comfortable around Maggie.

“I’m looking out for you,” he explained needlessly. “I don’t want a repeat of that shootout.”

“You—how d’you know about that?”

“Maggie,” Lockson said flatly, “I work for the FBI. Do you not watch Vice documentaries on surveillance states or anything? Or even that film on that FBI whistleblower?”

Maggie laughed. It’d been two or three times she’d laughed now, which was disconcerting when it came to Lockson, but she appreciated it.

“And what’s your progress on Lena?” Lockson asked. “Is she connected to Lillian Luthor’s work? Is L-Corp a front for it all?”

“Like—a front for Lillian and Roulette’s business?”

“Mm.”

“No, absolutely not.” This was the first time Maggie had truly been resolute in these debriefs. Unless Lena Luthor was better than Dame Judi Dench,  there was not a chance in hell she could’ve fooled Maggie. The generosity of making sure and identifying what the implant was that Cadmus had so kindly stuck into her brain stem, and then committing her time to create a counter-measure, had sealed her faith in her. And judging by the frosty atmosphere in the room, she couldn’t really picture Lena sitting down at dinner with her mother exchanging ideas on how to mass-hunt aliens on the planet and use them as experimental rats.

Lockson raised his eyebrows. “What makes you say that? She _is_ , after all, a—”

“Luthor,” Maggie finished for him. Lockson chewed on his lip, feeling a little guilty. “But it’s about time we start seeing her the way Supergirl sees her: a clever businesswoman named Lena who just so _happens_ to have such a notorious surname. You should see the shit she’s done. She shouldn’t be overlooked just because of her surname.”

“Of course.” Lockson apologised, and returned to jotting down notes. “And how’re you finding your job? Been caught by the authorities yet? How’s the safehouse?”

 _Both are missing Alex_ was the initial thought that popped to mind. No DEO, no Alex Danvers. No apartment, no Alex Danvers. No _kids_ , no Alex Danvers...

Maggie forced a smile and nodded. “I’m coping. Rotating routes to fool the police.”

“And the safehouse?”

“Not much better than a meth hotel,” Maggie said. “Smells a bit like—”

“I’ll see what I can do to fix you up in better accommodation,” Lockson said hastily.

“Or just switch my room. The couple next to me have such, loud, _rough_ sex—”

“Duly noted, Sawyer. Duly noted.”

 

* * *

 

Lesson learned: when Lillian Luthor tested you by sending a six-man team of killers to ram you off the side of the road, and then you ‘prove’ your loyalty to her by almost ‘killing’ Supergirl with a Cadmus weapon, and she says she trusts you implicitly because she’s shown her true colours... Lillian Luthor _does not mean a word of it._

Back at the NCPD, she’d joked along with her nickname of alien gunslinger simply because she had been the first, and still one of very few, cops who genuinely gave a shit about aliens living amongst humans.

“I’ve worked with some great off-worlders before.”

“I think their brains must be bigger than ours, because they work _well_.”

“Oh, I’ve never been harassed by any of ‘em. I dunno what the fuss about the amnesty thing’s about.”

It almost felt like hearing a compliment and realising it wasn’t really a compliment at all—and the person who’d said it had absolutely no idea. Positivity and equality towards aliens was always a strict rule within the NCPD, but as with any police division, corruption was present and not everyone followed the rules. The majority who did followed them very much by-the-book.

The basic answer to Maggie’s question had been answered weeks after discovering the dive bar, and not once seeing a police officer in there.

“Here’s what you’ll be transporting tomorrow,” Roulette said as she opened the back of the van. To Maggie’s visible horror, the benches either side of the back of the van were lined with handcuffed aliens of all shapes, colours, languages...and one common factor. _Fear_.

“I expect them by 11am or 12pm at the latest,” Lillian piped up. “Skip the rush hour traffic. I trust you’ve shared your new route with Roulette?”

“She’s the only one who has the copy,” Maggie lied.

“Excellent. So can I rely on you do to this, Miss Sawyer?”

Of _course_ she had to show the starved, pleading faces of the aliens. It wasn’t as if Maggie hadn’t prided herself on her reputation as ‘the alien-friendly cop’. Besides, the title of ‘alien gungslinger’ sounded pretty darn cool, too. If there had been a heart monitor stuck to her, she was sure her readings would’ve gone through the roof. But instead, she swallowed her hesitation and nodded slowly instead.

“Where to?”

“You don’t need a location. Some cops will stop you here—” Roulette pointed to some obscure bridge, and gestured underneath. “They’re gonna ask to charge your cargo. They will ask you your name. You will say you are Smithson, and you work for Roulette.”

“Then what?”

“Then, to your relief, it’s not your responsibility anymore. The cops under my power will handle those aliens however they want. Some will go to Lillian; some won’t. It doesn’t matter. Either way, as soon as the cops collect them, your job is done. Bring the truck back here, and the cash is yours.”

 

* * *

 

Psychological games.

That was Roulette’s area of expertise. She was a brilliant networking, an excellent judge of character, master manipulator and would kill to get her way. But the best game she played was psychological torment, because ran it like a business. Meticulous follow-ups and references; it was a step-by-step, well thought-out process.

Maggie could not sleep. Not after seeing the terrified faces of those aliens in the back of the van. Roulette knew what she was doing. Lillian had already tested Maggie’s loyalty. Now it was Roulette’s turn.

How frightening must it have been, to look in the face of the person who would transport you to your likely death?

She drove the next morning, her conscience as clear as a muddy cesspit of shit. She even kept her usually-violent style van driving to a minimum, abiding by the speed laws as if this would help: delaying the inevitable. Eventually, they were stopped at exactly the mark Roulette pointed out.

Maggie did not believe in a God, but she prayed in that moment. She prayed for two things: a.) that the ‘cops’ would not be there, and b.) Supergirl knew how to read a map.

As soon as they stopped under the bridge, Maggie switched off the engine. She didn’t have the heart to open the back of the van for some ventilation. Selfishly, she couldn’t even bear to see their faces, knowing she would be handing them over to Cadmus any minute. Instead, she sat in the driver’s seat, her face pale as bile rose up the back of her throat. She’d killed a few people on the job. It had been her duty, and she’d had no choice. She had no choice in this, really, but to _purposefully deliver_ someone to inevitable death...

At least Maggie would not kill without mercy. But Cadmus did not have room for mercy.

The sirens wailing loudly signalled the approach of the police, and two slightly overweight officers clambered out of their police car. They flashed their badge silently. “We’re gonna have to check your cargo, ma’am,” one of them said. “And confirmation of name.”

“Smithson. I’m just transporting some...sub-par goods.”

“Could be a reason for probable arrest, Jamieson,” one of the officers said. It was then when Maggie realised the radio was still on—these were legit cops, and Maggie wondered in horror how many of them were getting cash flow from Lillian Luthor. “Do you have a reason you think we should look further into this?”

“There’s a few I’m carrying that one of my colleagues caught abusing his girlfriend on the street. In case of further domestic violence cases, I thought I’d bring them in. Seeing as I’m a private contractor for L-Corp—” she decided this wasn’t 100% untrue, “Three of them are in there for organising a drug cooking business in one of L-Corp’s basements. You’ll find them on the employee records and details of their firings.” _Employee records made last night..._

“Then we’ll take it from here, Miss Smithson.”

“Thank you.”

Maggie stood stiffly to the side as one-by-one, Officers Jamieson and the other unnamed officer manhandled the handcuffed aliens from the back of the van. Expectedly, they weren’t gentle, either. When one of them attempted to plead his innocence—a lost cause anyway—he was shoved to the ground without another word, with Jamieson proceeding to kick his face repeatedly as an example, until he was unconscious. The officers dragged his body to the back of their police van.

And something just snapped inside her.

“Not very appropriate considering how often police brutality’s been on the news,” Maggie said.

The other officer, a broad man with the badge ‘DREW’, frowned at her. “What?”

“I said _police brutality_ ,” Maggie said, stepping forwards. He was so tall she was practically level with his police radio. “That man you just shoved into the back of your police van—I think he needs some medical attention.”

“He provided forceful physical resistance,” Drew said.

Maggie raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t witness any.”

“Wash your mouth out,” Jamieson whispered threateningly, giving the last of the alien prisoners a violent shove so they couldn’t overhear. “There’s already back-up coming. If _any_ of this gets back to—”

“ _Shit_!”

Maggie stumbled over seemingly nothing, and even the two officers—knowing Maggie’s rank within Cadmus and her importance to L-Corp—dipped their heads to check if she was okay. It felt as if her brain had just been zapped; as if she’d received an electric shock, but instead of on the hand, it went straight through skin and onto the nerves around her brain stem.

Nauseous, Maggie doubled over, her knees instantly buckling as she did so. She’d dropped too quickly, and the difference from standing to kneeling almost made her vomit. Fear cascaded through her, and not because she’d just defended her ‘cargo’ from Jamieson and Drew. It was because her jaw had locked, and as her brain willed her right hand to push herself up from the ground, nothing happened.

“Shit,” she could hear Jamieson, faintly, say. She hadn’t lost consciousness; she knew she was flat on her back, staring at the bright sky. “She’s gonna have a seizure.”

“We can’t just leave her here, you moron—”

She felt like Bambi. As Jamieson and Drew argued among themselves, she slowly—really, at a snail pace—clambered to her feet, her entire outfit dusty from the sandy ground. Everything felt numb. Her mind didn’t feel like it was being attacked in any way. It just felt...static. It felt like there were memories in her life she knew of, but didn’t know; people she knew of, but didn’t know. People she differentiated as good or bad, but didn’t know the difference between which.

But she could hear a familiar _whoosh_. She could hear van doors being slammed violently, and a familiar voice yelling orders about. The voice felt like a blanket over her, a safety blanket, and so this was maybe one of the stupidest things she’d ever done in her life, but Maggie went, as they’d say, full ham.

With all the strength she could muster, and probably foolishly too, considering she was on the brink of collapse, she smacked Jamieson on the nose. Clumsily, she tripped over her own feet as she dropped forward with the force of her attack, but Jamieson had immediately fallen to the floor, yelping in pain as blood spurted everywhere.

Another violent shock to the brain had her screaming in pain, clutching her head as she blindly reached for something to hold onto. Then—

It didn’t feel like anything at first.

It felt as if the world has just been swept away from her. The sounds of chaos and fighting and shooting faded into a pleasant buzz of nothing, and the worries she had about life, about love, about being undercover, about seeing Alex again and trying to avoid the hurt—it dissolved. All she could hear and feel was her breathing, and it was regular—sort of—she had no context—but as the seconds ticked by, her ears strained further to catch the sound.

“Maggie! _Maggie_!”

She could recognise that voice anywhere and almost expected Alex’s face to be hovering over hers. Except she never came. Instead, all she heard was “stay with me!” and “no, Kara, _no_! Please!”

Maggie lay motionless on the ground. The one time she’d forgotten her bulletproof vest, she just simply had the luck of getting shot by a corrupt police officer. The irony wasn’t lost on her. Groaning, she attempted to shift position, but Alex’s voice drifted over again, this time somewhere near her head.

“I’m dreaming,” Maggie said dazedly.

“You’re not.” Alex’s concerned face briefly hovered in her line of vision, where she could see a blurry outline of her shoot a Cadmus grunt. “Don’t close your eyes, Maggie. Keep pressure on that wound. You’re a badass, Maggie. Stay with me.”

“P-promise...”

It was endlessly frustrating, to hear this apparently chaotic _war_ rage around her and have absolutely no idea _what_ was going on. She tried to even her breaths, deepening them—but it hurt her ribcage too much. When Drew had shot her, he must’ve kicked her in the ribcage when she’d been down, too; she supposed she must’ve been blacked out for a moment. Squeezing her eyes shut momentarily, she gasped for air and water, her dry lips cracked from moisture. Subconsciously, she knew half her face and body was being splattered by blood as Supergirl and Alex kicked everyone’s asses—but only subconsciously.

Everything felt fuzzy except the vivid panic that stung through her body. The nerves in the back of her neck still felt sore and fried, as if she was some sort of laptop that had simply overheated and glitched massively. Faintly, because her entire world was spinning out of control now, she could feel pressure being applied to her wound, which made her cry out in agony.

“Shh...”

Maggie moaned weakly. “Alex...”

“Let’s see what we can do with you, Maggie.” Crouched over her, Maggie’s vision cleared instantly as she locked eyes with Lillian Luthor’s crystal-blue ones, unable to miss the transparent smirk on her face. “Come on.”

“Al—”

“Isn’t here,” Lillian finished for her smoothly, as her two guards picked Maggie up. “But don’t worry. We’ll... _fix_ you.”


	6. Justice, I think

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken too long! Between being skint, working extra hours to compensate for it, and another job, I've barely slept a wink. Thank you to anyone who's been following the story! :)

“Oh my _God_...”

Maggie groaned as she blinked her eyes open, noticing that there was no bed to fall off from. It took her a few minutes to gauge her surroundings. She was lying on the floor, on someone’s half-assed effort of a quilt. Both of her wrists were handcuffed to some sort of anchor on the floor, and so were her ankles. Sticking out of her left arm was a cannula, and she would’ve mistaken this for some sort of backdoor surgery if it didn’t look so much like a prison cell.

She squinted. She was quite sure she was in a squareish box, with transparent windows all around.

Okay, yeah. She was in some sort of prison cell.

The pain in her chest had not subsided. She assumed that’s what the continuous infusion was for—and she hoped they were giving her the strongest opiate they could get their hands on, because getting _shot_ by some crooked policeman was idiotic. Feeling pain about it was embarrassing. God, if she’d _died_ from that wound, then she was sure there was no greater humiliation.

It was sharp, as if someone had shoved a shard of glass right through her and kept twisting. The pain would subside for a few seconds, and then return with a greater vengeance. And the worst thing?

She was chained to the fucking floor, and she couldn’t even writhe around or squirm in pain.

“I’ve got you,” a hasty voice reassured her as they burst through the door, slamming it shut behind them. Maggie balked at the voice. “Stop moving.”

Maggie, gunshot wound to the chest, kicked around on the floor, still clinging onto the fact that she’d heard Alex, she’d known Alex was there, and that it was _real_ \--

It broke her. She was quite sure if Lillian Luthor came in now asking for information, a tired Maggie would simply bullshit her and get another beating. But by the looks of the medical attention, they clearly wanted her to recover to a hundred percent--albeit in a secure facility. This was not exactly first-class, though. Still--she’d been _seconds_ away from Alex, until she must’ve been distracted by something else, and Lillian…

She was so far down, so low, so stuck at the bottom that she wasn’t sure if it was anger or fear that wanted to invade her body. But hearing that voice, it was anxiety. Uncertainty. The unknown.

Quickly, she cricked her neck upwards.

Yeah, she knew that voice.

“Jeremiah?” she said disbelievingly, squinting as if that could change the fact that _Jeremiah Danvers_ was standing in front of her. In a Cadmus cell. “What…?”

“I’m sorry you got hurt in all that, Maggie,” Jeremiah said sincerely. “I know Alex loves you. I know both my girls adore you.”

“You’re...Shit, what happened?”

“Just--hang on.” Jeremiah scratched the back of his neck, clearly agitated. He didn’t look like the man who’d been confidently making cocktails in the kitchen of the Danvers residence. Maggie frowned, immediately slinking into cop mode. She could see his eyes briefly flicker up towards the security camera in the top corner of her cell, and as he moved a little closer, she could see every bead of sweat trickling down his forehead.

Without a word, he took hold of the plank-like structure Maggie had been chained to, on the floor, and adjusted it. Without glamourising it too much, it felt kind of like a sunbed by the pool. He pushed her seat backwards and then adjusted her backing, so she was sitting upright, still restrained by the hand (and ankle) cuffs, and still hooked up to the medical equipment monitoring her heart rate, glucose levels, U&E functions…

“What the hell is this?” she asked. “Some sort of portaloo hospital?”

“Probably not quite up to Alex’s standards,” Jeremiah said with a laugh. Maggie didn’t even smile at him. Something was off, and Jeremiah… “You’ve seen a lot of Alex these days, right? And Kara? How’re they both doing?”

“Kara’s steel,” Maggie said plainly, “And...Alex and I...parted ways.”

“Ah. That’s too bad.”

“You know what else is _too bad_?” Maggie sat up in her position, her speech somewhat ruined by the fact that she winced as her handcuffs dug into her wrists, and her chest pinched in blind agony. “It’s too bad-- _shit_ \--it’s too bad you can’t tell me what you’re really doing here.”

“I think you know.” Nonetheless, Jeremiah crouched down and fidgeted with the morphine infusion line, making sure it was set at the appropriate rate. As his face hovered by her ear, he muttered, “I can’t make it out, Maggie. Whatever happens, it’s best if my girls either think I’m dead or…I just…” He swallowed, and unnecessarily checked Maggie’s pulse and fussed over her, even though everything was displayed on the monitor. “I can’t leave them thinking I am who I am.”

“The way I see it, is that you can be a dad who tells the truth, or you can be Jeremiah Danvers. You can’t be both.”

“Maggie...You’d understand. You mentioned your father--”

“Is out of my life,” Maggie said sharply. “And you know what he was and still is? A homophobic piece of shit. Don’t get me to polish your turd, Jeremiah.”

It was harsh, but it was true. At least Jeremiah had the decency to look guilty for even asking in the first place. Closing his eyes, he made sure her neck was comfortable by providing her with several cushions. It only took a few seconds for some additional nurses to wheel in a large flat-screen, and plug it in. Maggie frowned, recognising it vaguely, but unsure of from where.

“Just sleep, Miss Sawyer,” one of the nurses said with a smile. “We’ve got the newest and tested treatments at Cadmus. Your wound’ll heal in no time.”

Jeremiah placed what he supposed was a comforting hand on her shoulder; she only felt the slime of a traitor. Then again, what made him much different from her? Maggie sighed and closed her eyes, willing the morphine to just take the pain from her chest away. The nurses came in and out of the room, and she swore, each time they brought in a different piece of equipment. Jeremiah stood silently by her side.

“We’re gonna put you to sleep for a while,” a nurse--a young, blonde one--said. “You won’t notice a thing.”

“Like...induce a coma?” Maggie said warily. “I’d rather--”

“Mrs. Luthor’s orders, Miss,” the nurse said quickly. “It’s okay. It’s safe. It’s been tested before.”

 _On you_ , was the ending of that sentence. But the nurse didn’t know that, and neither did Maggie.

 

* * *

 

“That...” Maggie blinked slowly. She felt a bit like a lazy cat, stretching her limbs until her joints cracked. She could feel Alex mumble sleepily next to her. She hated it whenever Maggie cracked her knuckles or something. Yawning loudly, she squeezed her eyes and then opened them, glaring at the sunlight peaking through the windows. “I dunno why you insist on blinds, babe. We need black-out curtains.”

“Bad for the winter,” Alex scoffed into her pillow. “I refuse to wake up and it’s pitch black.”

“I refuse to wake up on autopilot because the sun’s smacking against my face.”

“So stubborn,” Alex teased. Maggie grinned dozily as Alex shifted beside her, rolling on top of her. It was hard to imagine that not so long ago, people from certain circles would’ve dubbed her a _baby gay_. There was nothing babyish-sweet about this Alex Danvers. Only the gay. Maggie smiled as Alex kissed her gently, coaxing her mouth open.

Every time Alex kissed her, her mind spun a thousand revs a minute. She could feel Alex’s hands clamp over hers, slowly dragging them up so she could pin them above Maggie’s head. And then Alex was grinding down on her, the pace so slow that it became painful. She was forceful—cleverly so—with her weight, not quite allowing Maggie’s hips to buck up in response. Unable to help herself, and hating herself for relinquishing control, she moaned loudly into Alex’s mouth.

“Not fair,” Maggie muttered as Alex dipped her head to nip at Maggie’s neck. “You haven’t even got morning breath.”

“Magical talent.” Alex smirked. “Maybe _I’m_ Supergirl. And I don’t get morning breath.”

“Yeah, you can kiss my ass if you’re Supergirl. I hate that douchey side of her sometimes.”

“Hey, she can’t help it. She _is_ the woman of steel after all.”

“Right.” Maggie leant up to kiss her again, harder this time. Something didn’t feel right; no, something didn’t _taste_ right. If Alex was sorely lacking in morning breath, then she would at least be able to smell the faint strawberry and coconut body wash Alex doused herself in every night before bed. “You don’t need to defend her _all_ the time, babe. She is kind of an arrogant dick when she wants to be.”

“True...”

Maggie kissed her again, just to take up some time. Her back was sweating profusely against the bed covers, and the hairs on her neck pricked up in fear. Something was amiss. Alex would’ve smacked her playfully now for dissing her sister—but they hadn’t even _mentioned_ Kara. Instinct kicked in, and Maggie decided she wouldn’t bring Kara Danvers up as a topic. Instead, she let Alex kiss her, her teeth grazing against her bottom lip, and treasured the feel of love—or whatever this was—this fake projection of love—and latched onto it. Even if it _was_ some fake projection, the desperation with which Maggie held onto that memory; that simulation...

God, it hurt her chest. She’d been shot and stabbed enough times to know what an acute wound felt like. But this was deep and twisting, festering and painful. It hurt. Somewhere, in her body, there was a muscle for Alex Danvers, and it never stopped contracting. It never stopped working; never stopped _loving_.

“Could you imagine if we had kids?” The litmus paper test of all questions, surely. Maggie smiled humourlessly as she kissed Alex, waiting for her answer. “They’d never get to school on time...”

“Honestly?” Alex kissed her, and laughed. “Keep those monsters away from me.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Too busy saving the world. Besides, I was never the world’s best babysitter.”

“No?”

“Nope.”

Maggie pulled back from their kiss, careful eyes scanning Alex’s earnest face. If this was some sort of CGI-type simulation, she would’ve noticed. But it _wasn’t_. Every crook of Alex’s was _there_ ; every freckle on her face, and everything she remembered about her. She felt exactly like Alex, except there was no healed scar on her shoulder from when she’d cut her own tracker out after being kidnapped. There was no earnest behind the smiling gaze Alex gave her, and there were no long-term plans of being a mother.

In a sick way, Maggie almost wished this had been their reality. Lazily kissing in their apartment, where the only complaint was the sunlight streaming through the blinds.

Alex rolled off her, swaying her hips slightly. She knew Maggie’s eyes would follow her ass as she strolled confidently towards the kitchen. Maggie was shameless. Fuck it. Dream world or not, Alex Danvers had an ass to admire. Groaning slightly, Maggie awkwardly fumbled out of their bed. She tried to look for any signs she was in some sort of dream like last time, but everything about their apartment seemed spot-on. There were no blurry edges...

“How about we stop talking about kids,” Alex said from the kitchen, laughing, “and we make some breakfast instead?”

“I thought you were the one who wanted to talk about them,” Maggie said slowly. She stretched her limbs again, her eyes never once leaving Alex’s. A comfortable—well, it should’ve been comfortable, but _something_ wedged itself in between them...an invisible wall—silence blanketed them. Alex picked up a frying pan. “Didn’t you?” Maggie pressed.

“I can go one morning without talking about them. Pancakes?”

“As usual?”

“Of course.”

Maggie _hated_ this. She was pretty damn sure this was another one of Cadmus’ stupid tests, and thinking about it made her brain hurt. She wondered if she’d truly been whisked off to heaven...Maybe she’d died, and she’d be living in this childless, loving eternity. But Maggie thought on her past, and her mistakes, and all the loose ends she’d never tied up...No, if there was a heaven, then she was not headed there. Maggie watched silently as Alex poured batter mix into the pan, wishing she could go up to her and press against Alex’s back; place a gentle kiss against the crook of her neck. But even a few minutes ago, as they’d kissed lazily on the bed—it felt dirty, _second-hand_...And Maggie had been so desperate, so low, that she despised herself for admitting she enjoyed that intimacy with Alex once more. She’d never have it again.

“Babe,” Alex said, “Pass me that frying pan spatula, will you? That non-stick one.”

“Sure.” Maggie opened the draw, and did as she was told.

And a glint of metal caught the corner of her eye.

Maggie stood frozen in front of the cutlery drawer, still open. Alex hadn’t even noticed—she was too busy plating up. And for some reason, the desperation clawed violently at Maggie’s chest. It was unforgiving, and permanent; it felt like bruised love, except bruises healed and this wouldn’t. She gripped the edges of the drawer.

“How’s Ruby?” she asked tersely.

Alex turned around and frowned. “Who?”

“Yeah,” Maggie mumbled. “I thought so.”

She took the steak knife, and jammed it straight for her carotid artery.

 

* * *

 

“Her mind is strong. Her body’s super fit. Her vitals are absolutely fine. Ma’am, we’ve run tests and tests. We’ve put her under duress; we’ve monitored her sleep cycle; we’ve kept her on the nutrition plan you ordered. She’s physically extremely fit, and her muscle to fat ratio is incredible.”

“If something like the Daxamite invasion happens again, she could be a real...asset.”

There was a third voice. “Oh, yes. But you cannot test loyalty.”

“No, you can’t. But you suppose, nurse, that she’d survive the installation—”

“She’d prosper,” said the nurse. Maggie lolled in and out of consciousness, the three blurry figures by her bed completely unclear. They looked like wobbly lines, but she could tell they’d all turned to face her.

“I brought her in, Roulette. I have the final say. You can have her if I see fit.”

“We’re in this, fifty-fifty. Think about the business. Our new villain, _Detective Metallo_. The irony--”

“This one—Sawyer—is part of _my_ fifty.”

 

* * *

 

“Miss Lu—er, Lena,” Maggie greeted awkwardly as she walked into the room. Always ten minutes early. Lena glanced up from her laptop screen and flashed her a broad smile. “I hope...Everything’s in order?”

Clunky dialogue, but Maggie had never been someone’s personal bodyguard before.

“Oh, the usual. Business proposals and death threats from people who think I am my bald brother.”

“Ah.”

Lena laughed softly. “Too much?”

“I’ve heard worse,” Maggie replied good-naturedly. She stood rigidly by the door, ready in case anything happened. It wouldn’t—she was sure of that. L-Corp was one of the most secure buildings in the city, despite the number of humans and aliens alike who despised the name _Luthor_. Lena’s efforts in distancing herself from her family’s reputation must’ve worked. It wasn’t hard to see why. Lena didn’t just wear charm on her face; she oozed it from every pore. “Uh...Everything in order?”

“Just about,” Lena murmured. Maggie could tell she wasn’t really listening. She was far too absorbed by the work she was typing rapidly into her laptop, so fast and almost violently that Maggie wondered if it was time to replace the poor device. “Actually, there is one thing.”

Maggie was almost relieved. As much as she enjoyed Lena’s company, she did not want to be stood here for her entire shift. “Yes?”

“You forgot my lunch. I’ll just get the usual.”

“The...usual.”

Lena glanced up. “Yes. That’s what I said, right?”

“Er—”

Maggie tilted her head, suspecting she might’ve looked like a curious five-year-old, but fuck it. What kind of food would a woman like Lena Luthor have for her lunch? _As per usual_? She was slim, and curvy, but she not skinny; her complexion was smooth so she probably liked seafood. She was fucking _rich_ , so Maggie mentally added caviar to the list. Then she saw the curve of Lena’s smile, and decided maybe she wasn’t as much of a dick to have caviar on ‘the usual’.

“You’ll have to forgive me,” Lena laughed, a little lamely. “Jess from reception fetches my lunch. I just wanted to see the look on your face, Miss Sawyer. It seems you _can_ break.”

“Point a gun at my forehead and I won’t blink. Give me a food order and I’ll develop a cardiac arrhythmia.”

“I thought my mother hired the best.”

Maggie grinned. “The best-looking?”

Lena had the grace to give her a once-over, before snarkily biting back with a: “Not even close.”

“For future reference,” Maggie said idly, “What _is_ your usual?”

“Well—”

“ _Shit_!”

Stupidly, because who had coherent thoughts when you got attacked out of the blue, Maggie’s first thought was to slap herself for suggesting that Lena’s usual lunch was eating shit. The next thought she had was _I’m going to kill this motherfucker_ , because as the smoke cleared ever so slightly, and the last of Maggie’s coughs subsided, she could see that Lena’s office door had been blown open. The shadow, she could not yet make out, but it was too tall for a human, and the bodily shape was not right.

“Panic button!” Maggie roared, scrambling over to where Lena was. She kept her gun trained against the door, where the shadow hadn’t moved, and one hand shoved Lena off her executive chair and onto her knees. “Stay under the table,” Maggie hissed as soon as she got the opportunity to crouch down, her gun still aiming towards the door. “Stay there.”

“Maggie, you can’t just—”

“Kevin Costner and Whitney, remember?” Maggie said humourlessly, though it eased her fluttering heart to see Lena smile reluctantly. She stood up slowly, her knees bent as she crept around Lena’s massive desk. “What do you want?” she called.

“I know you,” said the shadow. “I—I’ve seen you before.”

“You’ll know I’m a cop then,” Maggie said. “And you can’t just blow up Lena Luthor’s door like that.”

“Since when have you sympathised with the likes of her?” The smoke was beginning to dissipate now—Maggie had opened the windows in her mad dash to ensure Lena’s safety—and gradually, the alien’s appearance was familiarising itself with her brain. Green skin, scaley arms, those distinctive pointed ears...

“Dolly’s,” Maggie said disbelievingly. Her gun remained pointed at him, wavering slightly. “What—what’re you doing here? You’re—” _What was his name?!_ “You’re not a killer.”

“Still got sent to prison on murder charges,” came the bitter reply. “So does it really matter, Maggie?”

“Who—who--?”

“Doesn’t matter who,” the assailant hissed back, “All I am is a number. Nothing else. You and your President’s half-assed amnesty shit made sure of that.”

Maggie clenched her jaw. “That’s bullshit and you know it—”

“What you gonna do, huh?” The alien inched closer, clearly unafraid of Maggie’s raised weapon. “You gonna shoot?”

Slowly, Maggie cocked her gun. “I will if I have to.”

“To protect that Luthor piece of scum?”

“To _do my job_ ,” Maggie hissed back. The alien stiffened in response, his eyes flickering from Lena to Maggie. Maggie already knew what was coursing through his mind: Lex Luthor. But the difference was, Lena was nothing like Lex. If she was, Maggie was sure she’d have to bite the bullet and shoot Lena herself. “She’s innocent. Leave this be and I’ll let you go. I’ll let you go,” she repeated firmly, when Lena made a move behind her. She flung her arm out to bar Lena from getting any closer. _Fucking Luthors and their stubbornness_.

“Here I was, thinking you were one of us. Human on the outside, a fucking alien on the inside.”

“There’s no _sides_ —”

“Oh yeah?”

The green-skinned alien was pointing a pistol directly at her. Lena had done exactly as she’d been told: hide under the fucking table. But Maggie was pressing for a name in her head. She’d seen him before at Dolly’s, and she was quite sure she’d conversed with him too. Now, with their guns aimed at each other, she really didn’t want to reach the conclusion of all of this. She knew not enough for a name, but she knew enough to know that he was not an enemy. Misguided and misinformed, yes.

But not the enemy.

“You fire,” the alien said firmly, “And I fire too.”

“A life for a life sounds almost worth it. Shame it’s not the life you were looking for.”

“After I kill you, you traitor cop, I’ll finish my business with Lena Luthor.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to die trying.”

But neither of them pulled the trigger. It was telling, really. Everyone within the alien community knew of Maggie’s true allegiance. Equally, everyone knew that Detective Maggie Sawyer was the closest thing to an authority figure they could rely on. As politics stood right now, they could not just simply eliminate their only human, police-connected ally. And yet...

“What are your orders?” Maggie tried. Her gun did not waver.

The alien did not respond.

“Mine are to protect Lena Luthor,” Maggie said shakily, “At all costs.”

“You _know_ us, Maggie,” the alien said, shoving his hands into his pockets. Maggie tightened her grip on the gun, her breathing coming out in short, sharp spurts. She knew how this would end, and she knew she would hate herself for it. “And here you are, protecting the woman who’s imprisoned us all. She’s fucked it for us.”

“You’ve got the wrong Luthor lady.” Maggie swallowed, hard. “I’m sorry.”

“ _Sawyer_ —”

CRACK.

The noise seemed to smack into radio silence like an open-handed slap across the face. In the silence of the spacious, roomy office, the gunshot was so loud that Maggie’s ears were ringing even a good minute after she’d delivered the killer blow. Disgusted with herself, she forced herself to watch as the alien’s knees buckled and his body crumpled to the floor, the dark pool of blood ruining the pristine, minimalistic office of Lena Luthor’s.

For a moment, no words were exchanged. Lena slowly clambered out from her hiding place and surveyed the scene before her in horror, only occasionally daring to shoot Maggie a furtive glance.

“I’m to protect you at all costs,” Maggie said dully. Undercover always seemed like such a fun, thrilling piece of action in the beginning. Maggie had never worked an undercover case that didn’t deteriorate into some sort of soul-searching, self-loathing _shit_. And this was going down a rapid, violent spiral. “That’s what your mother said.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Lena said, uncharacteristically crude. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Maggie admitted. “But I suppose anyone who answers _yes_ is a fucking psycho, right?”

“Right.”

And then it all happened at once.

If Maggie had thought the homicidal alien was one thing, what happened next was on another league. As if they’d coordinated this devil-angel balance, she could hear the irritating whoosh of Supergirl’s cloak as she landed on the balcony of Lena’s office. Meanwhile, Lillian Luthor shoved her way inside, until the four of them were stood in an awkwardly tense face-off.

The dead alien was still soaking crimson into Lena’s fancy carpet.

Nobody spoke.

Supergirl slowly trudged into the room, avoiding eye-contact with everyone. Her eyes were fixated on the dead alien on the floor. Maggie’s gun arm fell limply by her side, and the weapon itself clattered onto the floor. Lena, still supported by incredibly shaky legs, clambered to her feet.

Maggie didn’t dare look at Lillian. She did not want to see the smugness undoubtedly coating the woman’s face. She’d already soiled Lena’s rug with alien blood; she did not need to vomit all over it.

“Who,” Supergirl said, voice low—and for once, threatening, “did this?”

Nobody needed to speak. Lena had positioned herself behind Maggie, trying to ease the gun from her hand but failing. What did Lena Luthor think? That because she was friends with some chick from Krypton, that taking the blame for a murder of an alien—now an actual _crime_ —would be any better than Maggie handling the situation?

She didn’t even dare look at Lillian. She could see that smug bitch’s smirk even with her eyes closed.

“I had no choice,” Maggie said finally. Supergirl didn’t look at all surprised, and her blood ran cold. In the eerie silence of the office, she could hear commotion downstairs. Lena’s walls were neither bulletproof nor soundproof – and those loud, stomping footsteps that chased ever closer...

“There was no need for death,” Supergirl insisted.

“Rich coming from you.” Maggie tightened her grip on the gun.

Lena, sensing she was not going to one-up Maggie, hastily came in-between her and Supergirl. “Supergirl, please. She did it to protect me.”

“Under my hire,” Lillian reminded her.

The footsteps got louder and louder, and Maggie crushed her eyes shut. She could hear Lena and Supergirl arguing quietly, and she wondered how Lena would feel if she ever found out that Supergirl was also the stupidly mild-mannered Kara Danvers by day. Words like ‘alien’ and ‘cold-blooded’ and ‘protection’ and ‘justice’ were being thrown around, but Maggie wasn’t focused on them. She was barely focusing on the DEO trying to bash down the door.

She didn’t even think.

A major vein in her leg should do it. “Leave her to bleed to death,” she said coldly, just as the door smacked open. For a moment, she met Alex Danvers’ eyes, wide with fear.

Maggie pulled the trigger.


	7. The Way the Cookie Crumbles

Transparent windows, shatter-proof and suffocating.

Handcuffs, digging into her wriggling wrists as she stubbornly tried to yank herself free.

A growing sense of frustration as someone shuffled into the room, slowly covering her eyes with a blindfold. Maggie was so sedated she couldn’t even protest, except for moan in what she hoped sounded angry.

If she was back in Cadmus’ holding cell, then _fuck_ —

“I’ve jammed the signal on the neuroblocker—” That was Winn—shit, that was _Winn Schott’s_ voice, and God, she’d never been glad to hear Winn’s ramblings, but—but—

A tell-tale beep indicated a spike in her heart-rate. She was in the DEO headquarters.

It didn’t explain the handcuffs—

Or maybe it did. Visions faded in and out as the sedative wore off—visions of a bloodsoaked L-Corp executive office, and Supergirl’s horrified, judgemental face. Visions of her impulsive and cold-blooded murder as she raised her pistol and fired at Lillian Luthor, ruining perhaps most, if not all, undercover plans that Lockson and Wong had painstakingly formulated for her.

If she went back to L-Corp, or Cadmus, she was as good as dead. But here, in the DEO, locked up in the same cell Mon-el had initially been kept, blindfolded and spoon-fed her meals, three times a day, seemed somehow worse.

“...So it should block sound, but we haven’t scanned her fully—she could have an implant embedded inside her eye—yeah, I know it’s gross—” Winn said hastily as someone made a retching noise, “But it’s very possible if they were able to install such an advanced piece of tech in her brain stem. I can’t risk surgery—it’s too dangerous. All we can do is block the signal.”

“For how long?” Maggie could still pin-point the muffled rumble as J’onn.

“As long as it’ll stay,” Winn said. “I don’t know, J’onn. I’ll need to run more tests.”

J’onn repeated himself. “For how long?”

“The cell is pretty much a Faraday cage. She’s got a neuroblocker for the chip in her brain-stem. We just need Eliza’s approval in terms of testing further, seeing if she’s got anything else...”

“Then get the Danvers group in,” J’onn said. “And make it quick.”

The cell was transparent, and Maggie’s half-lidded eyes met J’onn’s, as menacingly as she could manage. She didn’t know his agenda, really. But—

“I’m not a traitor,” Maggie said hoarsely. She yanked against her restraints, to no avail. “J’onn, please. You know...”

I _did_ know,” J’onn said sombrely. “I do want to believe you, Maggie. I just can’t right now.”

“I’m right. You look into my eyes, J’onn. You know I am.”

“I think you are,” J’onn admitted softly. “But I have a job, too.”

 

* * *

 

Alex Danvers was not as unpredictable as she liked to think. She’d spent most days when she wasn’t off chasing rogue aliens or smacking people who took alien amnesty into their own hands senseless or when she wasn’t at Dolly’s—parked right outside the transparent cell. Maggie hadn’t woken. Eliza had proposed a controlled sedation programme with a suspiciously large back-up supply of midazolam she suspected Kara might’ve stolen from the hospital in a rare show of immorality.

Most days, she pressed her forehead against the glass, as if inching closer to an unconscious Maggie would give her answers.

How could this have happened? How could Maggie Sawyer, alien defender and all-round do-gooder cop work for _Cadmus_?

What was her connection to Lena—and Lillian Luthor?

Inside the cell, Maggie stirred sluggishly. Her eyes refused to crack open. She half feared the light, and she half feared what she’d see. She didn’t _know_ but she didn’t _want_ to. Instead, she squeezed her eyes shut, taking in slow, deep breaths. Decent, nourishing meals were slid through to her three times a day by a wary Kara. Maggie wasn’t entirely sure how much time had passed between her nearly waking up and hearing the Danvers sisters’ voices, but she sure as hell kept her eyes clamped shut.

It felt like a shock wave—one that pulsed all the sedative from her veins and into the stratosphere.

“This is a misunderstanding.” That was Kara, all diplomatic and fair. So _good_ , and by God, it frustrated Maggie. “I can vouch for her, Alex.”

“ _You_ can vouch for her? It wasn’t that long ago you two were bickering over a hostage negotiation!”

“Well, then, what do you want? Do you want to keep her imprisoned here forever?” _Just like she was at Cadmus_ went unspoken between them.

Maggie’s eyes were closed, but the tremble in Alex’s voice was unmistakeable. “No. I couldn’t save her when Lillian Luthor took her away. We aren’t letting her back into Cadmus’ arms again. There’d be no saving her then. I’m sure she thinks she can stage a Great Escape or something, but this is Roulette we’re talking about.”

“We have Lena on side,” Kara said.

“I know.”

“And Maggie,” Kara said carefully.

“Cadmus can turn even the best. C’mon, surely you know that.”

Maggie’s fists clenched, and she tried to redirect her muscles contracting all out of sync to her arms. It felt as if someone had just stomped on her chest, forced a hand through her skin and squeezed her heart. The pain wasn’t sharp but nor was it dull; it sat somewhere in the strange void in-between.

“Cadmus never _turned_ her, Alex. I’ve been her scapegoat a few times but only with my consent.”

“Well, you’re—wait, what?”

Maggie could practically _hear_ the sound of Kara realising she’d just stepped in shit. Sure, Maggie was a detective. Alex Danvers was a DEO agent. And even scarier, she was Kara’s elder sister.

“Er...”

“What are you on about, Kara?”

Ah, Maggie knew that tone. It was a skill of Alex’s. Sometimes, Maggie wondered if she was in the wrong profession. Alex would’ve made a great dramatic actress. To convey such ‘don’t fuck with me’ levels as well as the false pretence that whatever answer Kara gave would be okay (it wouldn’t) was an art.

“Relax,” Maggie said lazily, opening her eyes and relishing at the sight of both Danvers sisters jumping back about three feet. The element of surprise never got old. “We weren’t working in cahoots or anything. She just saved my ass a few times, that’s all.”

“And you didn’t think it was worth telling me?” Alex snapped.

“No.” Maggie tensed against her restraints. Her eyes followed Alex’s, which were clearly focused on the straps and cuffs keeping her locked to the bed. She felt like she was in a fucking mental asylum. After the havoc wreaked on her brain following Cadmus’ experiments, she supposed a mental asylum would be just the place to go. But she hated it. “And I don’t appreciate being kept like a fucking prisoner here.”

“You’re to be kept like that until we can trust you,” Alex said lowly, dangerously. Maggie recoiled. “You’re not doing a great job of convincing us so far.”

“Alex—”

“Don’t, Kara,” Alex sighed. “Ultimately, it’s J’onn’s decision.”

“You have no idea—I have a _job_!” Maggie yelled. No—this was pissing her off. This was _worthy_ of blowing a gasket. She’d finally been given an independent assignment, with the FBI no less, and she was _so close_ to shitting on Roulette’s entire operation.

Well. Close enough.

She had a duty to protect Lena Luthor, too. She had a niggling feeling in the back of her mind that Kara had already taken on that responsibility, but officially, it was _still her job_. Maybe she was being irrational. Maybe the DEO had reason to fear her disloyalty—but what else could she give them except her word?

No.

Maggie was a good detective. Hell, she was probably the best fucking detective in National City.

“Is this how you keep all your prisoners?” she goaded Alex, thrashing against her restraints. The too-tight leather straps caused friction burn against her wrists as she writhed in her bed, her eyes widening as Eliza, backed up by Kara, rushed into the room. “Is this what you want, Alex? You wanna chain me up until I tell you some bullshit about Cadmus? You’re never gonna catch them without me—”

“For once, this isn’t about Cadmus,” Alex lashed out. “This is about keeping you safe.”

“Yeah?” Maggie sneered. “By keeping me prisoner? Huh? Is— _ow_!”

“Sorry, sweetie.” Eliza’s voice coated her like some sort of blanket of melancholy contentment. “You just need to calm down.”

“I just...” _Fuck_ , IV injections set on quickly, “Please— _please_ fix my brain...”

“We’ll get on it,” Eliza said soothingly.

Gulping, Maggie’s heavy eyes fluttered shut. She tried to ignore the fact that the last thing she’d really acknowledged was Alex’s angry voice. That the last face she’d really kept imprinted in her mind was Alex’s infuriated look of ‘you don’t get me at all, do you?’

The fact that Alex didn’t trust her, when Maggie trusted her with her life—unconditionally.

Maybe Roulette had been right. Having a Kryptonite crystal for a heart didn’t seem such a foul idea after all.

 

* * *

 

“Did you, at any point, reveal Supergirl’s identity?”

“No,” Maggie said dully.

“To anyone? Anyone at all?”

“ _No_.”

Alex Danvers folded her arms in the seat opposite her. Beside her, J’onn sat silently, awkwardly. “Did you ever reveal the location of the DEO headquarters?”

“What? No.”

“Is Lena Luthor working with her mother?”

“No. She’s dead.”

“ _Was_ she working with her mother?”

“No.”

“Was she planning to?”

“No.”

“Were you ever going to use Supergirl’s identity as a bargaining chip?”

“No.”

“The DEO HQ?”

“No.”

“Did you murder anyone under Lillian Luthor’s instruction?”

Maggie opened her mouth, but no sound came out. A beat passed, and Alex leant back in her seat, her nostrils flaring. That was unfair. A curveball. It had nothing to do with her loyalty to Kara, and Alex, and the DEO...

She swallowed. “Yes.”

“Like you murdered that alien in Lena Luthor’s office?”

“Yes.”

“When her mother stepped in, were you going to use Supergirl’s presence as a saving grace?”

“No.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

Maggie folded her arms, unimpressed. Alex had been questioning her relentlessly for the better part of an hour now, with no signs of backing down. And she knew it frustrated Alex, that she was not prompting anything more than a one-word response. But as good a detective as Maggie was, she was just as knowledgeable about how a recipient would feel on the end of a barrage of questions. Maggie pursed her lips and jerked her head towards J’onn. “Why don’t you ask him?”

“I’m not going to ask him to read your mind, Maggie—”

“She’s clear,” J’onn said shortly. Maggie nodded gratefully at him, a gesture which he didn’t return. She assumed he was just relieved the painful interrogation was over. Clearly displeased—Alex looked as if she’d been personally betrayed by her colleague—Alex withdrew from the table and closed Maggie’s file.

Her trembling hands gave away her cool composure. Alex Danvers was usually the picture of calm, but Maggie understood. It wasn’t exactly an ideal scenario, interrogating your ex. But in being subject to it, Maggie learned her umpteenth lesson.

She needed someone impartial, with no feelings tangled in this already messy web of—of dogshit.

She couldn’t quite believe she was thinking this, but she needed Kara.

 

* * *

 

Hostility towards the DEO festered and mutated, and there was nothing Maggie could do about it. She was not quite sure she’d reached the target of 10,000 steps a day pacing back and forth in this ridiculous transparent glass, but she’d noticed she was being monitored. All the time.

James was decent. He observed quietly, brought her food and newspapers, and chatted to her like a normal person. Even Winn, with his nonsensical babble, was somewhat entertaining. As for Kara, Maggie had grown accustomed to her ego, so she sucked it up.

What she couldn’t quite stand was when it was Alex’s turn to take the watch, and it became deathly silent. For hours.

“You hungry?” Alex said shortly, offering up an unappetising plastic tray of prison mush. Maggie remained stoic. She could already hear Alex’s voice scolding her in her head—don’t turn away from food donated to you as a prisoner, you goddamn fool. Maggie shook her head meekly, and Alex placed it carefully onto a nearby table. “I guess you’re tired.”

Before Maggie had time to open her mouth in argument, Alex had already turned the lights off. The room was dark, and as Alex drew the curtains, Maggie caught a last glimpse of her watch before it transformed into pitch black. It was barely half six. Awkwardly, she clambered into her lumpy, single bed and curled up into a foetal position. She was small, but the thin quilt did not quite cover her entirely.

The next day, it was J’onn.

J’onn was the type of man (Martian?) who tried so hard to remain polite that even Maggie was willing for him to punch her in the face. He interrogated her following the exact formal procedure; he took minutes of their discussion and he was so professional Maggie could not even bear it. Still, she complied.

The questions he fired at her were pretty much the same questions they’d run her through before. Except this time, J’onn reached out to cover her hand empathetically. A strong part of Maggie’s heart scolded her for taking the gesture, but she couldn’t seem to pull away.

She closed her eyes.

“You’re not a prisoner,” J’onn said, maybe the first lie he’d told all day.

“Oh yeah? Then what am I?” Maggie challenged.

“Safe,” J’onn said.

Maggie believed him.

 

* * *

 

Hostility towards the DEO did not fade, however. Alex paced in front of her cell silently, her brow furrowed, for multiple days in a row. Even when Maggie said something as simple as ‘good morning’, she was met with blankness. Not even a turn of the head. Nothing to indicate that she existed within that cell.

Over time, she realised she couldn’t just leave. The DEO was, as J’onn had said to her numerous times, the safest place to be. She couldn’t seek out Cadmus or Roulette now that she could assume that there was a heavy bounty on her head.

And she couldn’t go to Captain Wong, either, because the tale she’d spin would seem so fucking ludicrous that she’d be condemned to a mental asylum. Lockson was also out of the picture. She could just imagine his quivery moustache as she spilled all the info, and while she wanted to laugh, all the thought did was send a horrible shudder down her spine.

J’onn had access to her phone, after she’d willingly given the passcode to unlock it. Wong had tried to call a few times but there had been nothing from Lockson at all. Angrily, she wondered if she was just another pawn in the FBI’s chess board. She wondered if Lockson was already recruiting someone else from her division. She thought of Balewa and her kids.

Fuck.

She’d agreed because she had nothing to lose; nobody to care, truly, if she died. Her parents were pieces of shit. Balewa was her closest friend at the precinct but she would one day overcome the mourning process. She’d never been close to the DEO, least of all Kara. And as for Alex, she doubted it—she doubted it a lot...

If she was ‘dead’ and she could finally collate and analyse the intel she’d collected—

“What intel?”

Kara’s snarky, disbelieving voice wasn’t a welcome blow. Gritting her teeth, Maggie slowly looked up to find Kara—unnecessarily kitted out in her Supergirl costume—standing in front of the glass that separated her from the outside of the cell. Maggie hadn’t realised she’d been talking out loud. But some things did not need verbal communication, and the raised eyebrow and the consistent, slightly disapproving look Kara gave her—it seemed like a permanent fixture—did not help. It didn’t help how guilty she felt. It also did not help her from wanting to deck Kara across the chin.

“I’m a Detective, _Supergirl_ ,” Maggie retorted. If Kara was going to be snappy with her, she was going to return it in full-force. “On undercover operations, we do something called gaining intelligence. Maybe you should try to do that one day.”

Kara scoffed. It was too easy to read her—she was so naive to the world around her sometimes that even though she tried to look menacing with her stance and her arms folded, wearing that ridiculous spandex costume of hers, Maggie knew she looked the greater threat. Even if she was imprisoned in the DEO, chained to the wall and quickly losing weight because the food they brought...

“Intel? From what I’ve seen, you’re just murdering innocent civilians. Wait, let me correct myself. Innocent _alien_ civilians.”

“You can talk to your bum buddy Lena Luthor,” Maggie said harshly, “And she’ll tell you it was not my intention.”

“Don’t talk about my friend like that. And you’re directing away from the issue. That was alien blood soaked through the carpet—”

“And Lillian Luthor’s,” Maggie said quietly. “So out of two kills that day, it’s 50/50. Equality, huh?”

Supergirl raised an unimpressed eyebrow. Maggie, frankly, did not give a shit. She could still see the frozen shock on Lillian’s face as Maggie shot her, twice in the stomach and then once in the chest. There had been no plan, no thought, behind the heinous act. It had been pure instinct. Maggie was clinical at the best of times. But getting egged on and mocked by the woman who’d subjected her to mental torture for months; getting egged on to act as a runaway driver; getting egged on for her past...

It was much easier, and much more efficient, to fire three fatal shots than it was to swallow her problems. And cowardice had seized her body in that very moment.

“I had no idea you were en-route,” Maggie said. “I...I didn’t intend for there to be an audience.”

“So you could slip away?”

“So you didn’t have to see me brutally murder an alien.”

“That worked well,” Kara said sardonically.

Maggie nodded blankly. Perhaps seeing the toll it had truly taken on the detective, Kara sat cross-legged in front of the glass. Mindlessly, Maggie shifted closer, too. There were too many loose ends she hadn’t tied up. If feigning death was the way to go, she would’ve burned everything that belonged to her. But in this unexpected ‘grab and go’ situation...

“Kara,” she said hollowly, “I...I need you to keep this from Alex.”

“She _saw_ you gun down—”

“I’m not talking about that. I’m about to tell you.”

“Oh.”

She wondered, in the back of her mind, if this was a good idea at all. She didn’t particularly trust Kara with secrets, nonetheless to keep one from her own sister. But she couldn’t tell Alex and endanger her any further; Kara wasn’t the bulletproof one, not Alex. And there _was_ a third option of not telling anybody at all, but Maggie already knew the result of _that_ situation. Cadmus would raid anything and everything, because if they ever figured out Maggie had not been on their side at all, they would burn the world to ashes until they found what Maggie had been collecting from them.

“I’ve got coordinates; transportation routes; names of Cadmus members—all sorts,” Maggie said quietly. “I’m not stupid enough to keep a USB stick on my person at all times, and nor am I stupid enough to walk around with fifteen USBs in the hope that they won’t get stolen. I—shit—if this ‘fake death’ plan goes to pot, I need insurance. Which means I _cannot_ let Cadmus find out I’ve been working for the FBI.”

“Okay,” Kara said slowly. “What is it? A folder of documents? A USB?”

“USB. And it’s in a very specific location. I need you to retrieve it. Keep it. It’ll have info on there. If it gets bad, it’ll have info that will discharge me from imprisonment. I was doing my job.”

“Maggie...” Kara, for once, emanated empathy, “what makes you think they haven’t got it already?”

“I don’t know. But if I were to bet on Cadmus versus Supergirl, I’d bet on Supergirl.”

There was an awkward pause, and Maggie added: “Just...remember...Don’t tell Alex. Please.”

“I won’t. You have my word.”

“Then I’ll tell you everything.” Maggie motioned for Kara to sit. “You got good memory? It’s a long story.”

“Get on with it, Maggie.”

 

* * *

 

It was 3am. Winn had the good grace to at least give her a digital clock before she drove herself crazy. The blinds had been purposefully blacked out—as if there was a risk of anyone peeping in to see a hungry Maggie Sawyer in a cell. But it also meant that Maggie, confiscated of all personal items, was no longer in possession of a watch. It meant as the days whirled into the next, Maggie’s only track of time was deciding which dish seemed most likely to be breakfast and which one was dinner.

She sighed and covered her face. So often, people would fill up with self-pity and ask ‘how did I get here?’ but that wasn’t the case with Maggie. From the beginning, she knew the risks; she knew she’d fall into the ‘criminal’ side of things...

She knew, had always known, in the back of her mind, that everything would come crashing down.

It had not been easy, keeping a steely demeanour as she witnessed the atrocities within Cadmus. Every night she was haunted by the sight of her bullet piercing through the stunned face of Lillian Luthor, leaving her perfected image all mashed up and bloodied. On the rare occasion she was shown the news, reports of a cop turned terrorist in order to destroy the President’s alien amnesty act had been plastered everywhere. If she was not the DEO’s pain in the ass #1 then she was certainly public enemy #1.

There had been nowhere to turn except Cadmus. She suspected Cadmus knew this; she even suspected that the FBI must have known this. But in being holed up in here, even if Eliza Danvers insisted it was for her own good, she’d failed her mission. The spy remained within the FBI, untouched.

A darker part of her brain wondered if the FBI’s goal had not been too dissimilar to Cadmus’. Isolate her from her workforce; Wong would have no idea. To Wong, she was simply undercover. But if this had been engineered by the FBI traitor she had so painstakingly tried to catch, then it had worked. Because for the large part of this mission, Maggie could barely report to Wong. She hardly saw Lockson, and Hernandez had died within the week. Her primary contacts had been Lillian and Roulette, and her point of evasion was the DEO. Even at Dolly’s...She hadn’t dared go in, but she knew if she did, she would have been killed.

So what was it? Chance, that the only organisation Maggie could feasibly turn to—if they didn’t transform her into the next Metallo—was Cadmus? Or had it been beautifully orchestrated from the start?

There was a noise—the sound of a door that someone had desperately tried not to slam shut—and Maggie jolted so violently she nearly fell off her bed. Embarrassingly, she reached for her non-existent gun holster, and found herself face-to-face with Alex Danvers...Sort of.

“Didn’t want to turn the lights on,” Alex said lamely, “They’re a bit clinical.”

Maggie eyed the dim torch Alex was holding in one hand, and a bottle of Scotch in the other. “It’s late,” she said hoarsely.

“Thought I’d see how you were getting on... James mentioned that the last time he’d checked surveillance, you hadn’t been faring so well.”

James bloody Olsen—always the noble one. Maggie nodded dumbly as Alex silently set the Scotch down as well as two whiskey glasses. The lamp was also placed on the floor, but Maggie’s eyes remained fixated on the Scotch. She knew why it seemed so familiar. On payday, she’d splashed out on the fanciest Scotch bottle the shop sold as a surprise for her then-girlfriend. She noted it hadn’t been opened.

“It didn’t seem right opening this without you,” Alex admitted, following Maggie’s gaze.

“Hm.”

“Maggie...You’ve got to start opening up. If not to me, then my mother. And I don’t just mean about your physical health.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me mentally, Alex.”

Alex pressed her forehead against the glass separating them, eyes wide and sorrowful. “Then why do you look like you’re about to cry?”

“I was about to...You know, when I was that fourteen year old kid,” Maggie said blankly. _I’ve failed. Again. I’ve failed my mission. I’ve failed my friends—or who used to be my friends. I’ve failed my Captain. I’ve failed the woman I still love who cannot love me back._ “I feel like I’m outside my aunt’s house again.”

She knew Alex understood the weight behind those words, because Alex Danvers was brave most of the time, and scared sometimes, too. This time, she was the latter. Maggie’s lower lip trembled as she fought to keep the tears strictly in her eyes as Alex poured them both a glass of Scotch, passing one through the cat-flap system they had in place for exchange of food and drink.

“I’m here,” Alex whispered.

Maggie nodded feebly. “I know.”

She didn’t know why it was not as reassuring as she thought it would be.


	8. Tip of the Iceberg

The minutes trickled by. The last of Maggie’s hastily scoffed breakfast crumbed all over the bottom of her chin when finally, _finally_ , the door blasted open. For the very first—and only—time in her life, Maggie’s heart sank when she saw Alex Danvers trudge in, her shoulders slumped. She did not look injured, but her clothes were smeared with blobs of dried blood.

Maggie didn’t need to speculate too much. She was still a Detective, after all.

“Hey,” Maggie said warily. She eyed Alex, who was unaccompanied, as she neared the glass partition that separated them. “Are you okay?”

“It was a long night,” Alex said instead. “Didn’t sleep. Did I put that bottle of Scotch somewhere?”

“Yeah...” Maggie jerked her head towards the windowsill. Alex slouched over. “It’s 10am, Alex.”

“10am doesn’t change the fact that Cadmus upturned your safehouse and your apartment.”

The statement felt like a knife slashed across her throat. She knew there was no malice or ill-intent behind Alex’s statement; she always heard or felt Alex’s anger. And Alex just wasn’t. Alex was a fighter. She always had been—whether it was physical prowess or whether it was simply to compete with her Kryptonian sister. Alex was fearless. She didn’t give a shit if she offended someone by snapping, because as far as she was concerned, she would be pissed off and angry when she wanted to be. But _this_ Alex was a strange void. She was angry, and bitter, and annoyed, and sad...But she had no punching bag to let it out on; no scapegoat to shout at and cry into.

If anything, Maggie had fallen asleep every night knowing her imprisonment (“protection,” J’onn preferred) was a frustrating dichotomy. For every reason she knew she had a right to be angry at the DEO, especially with Alex’s coldness—at least J’onn and Winn and James had awkwardly tried to avoid her when necessary.

Kara, she really _was_ pissed at. It wasn’t purposeful, Maggie knew, but Kara’s absolute inability to lie to her sister and somehow, even with good intent, screw the situation up even more was impressively irritating. Kara had tried to protect her even when the entire DEO believed her treacherous, but Maggie wished she hadn’t.

If for some reason the DEO let her go and Cadmus got to her, she didn’t want to think about being the immediate subject to their mental reprogramming tests again. The transparent cell was a prison, but at least she knew what was real.

“Tell me, how did Kara suddenly stumble across the fact that you kept a safehouse? The exact coordinates? If anything, I thought mind-reading was J’onn’s ability, but...”

Maggie’s throat had dried to a point where she could barely speak.

These days she didn’t, really. She was fed, on-time, every single day. Each meal presented her with carbs, protein, fibre, vitamins...Even ‘organically sourced, corn-fed chicken’ once, apparently upon Kara’s insistence.

She called the cell a prison in her mind but while at first she had felt victimised and annoyed, now, she felt like a weird hybrid of a luxurious hotel guest resigned to room service, and a victim of severe cabin fever.

The worst thing wasn’t the isolation. Maggie was NCPD-trained. She’d been good enough to be hand-picked by the FBI. She was no stranger to torture or humiliation, as Cadmus had occasionally subjected her to via intrusive experimentation. The DEO were cautious and they did not trust her, but they were never unkind. And Maggie, for her sake, for Alex’s sake, for the entire NCPD’s sake, kept quiet.

There was still a _mole within the FBI_. It was why Maggie had been deployed in the first place.

If she blew her cover, she would fail. She did not even want the thought of Balewa and her kids dying at the hands of Cadmus because of her and her inability to keep her mouth shut. Wong and Lockson suspected an FBI mole, but what if the agent was working externally? What if he was embedded within the DEO?

Conversely, by _doing her job_ , Maggie felt the brunt of everyone’s judgement. She had been in the force long enough to ignore it. She knew she had to commit to her orders. They didn’t just send _anyone_ undercover. She would not have murdered an alien, the blood soaking through L-Corp carpet as she watched coldly, delivering the killer shot, if she was not doing her job. What did people think this would result in? A kiss whilst a rainbow blossomed behind her? An undercover operation _with Cadmus_ that would result in mutual respect, courtesy and kindness?

Maggie was sure she was entitled to the unwanted feeling of anger and annoyance bubble in her stomach every night as she rolled and tossed and turned in her lumpy ‘bed’. She was a wrongful prisoner. But she would rather, any day, be a wrongful prisoner than a traitor to her mission.

“She was looking for a briefcase,” Alex’s voice broke her from her reverie, “A very specifically described one. Kara can bust through a brick wall but she isn’t a detective, Maggie. You of all people know that.”

“She had a source,” Maggie muttered unwittingly.

Alex’s stare was harsh and long. “I figured that one out.”

Withholding information was not her technique to keep everyone in the dark. If anything, J’onn was just as much of a culprit as she was. She _knew_ every time they met, he’d read her mind. It explained why her rations seemed to grow exponentially larger; it explained why by the end of the first week, she even had dessert. It explained why, supervised by Kara, she was allowed to do bodyweight exercises within the cell.

But she could not tell the truth. It would endanger everyone even if she trusted everyone. Kara might’ve been the fish that accidentally caught the bait, but everyone else was open game. Maggie couldn’t afford the wrong person overhearing something confidential if indeed there _was_ a spy in the DEO. Of course, maybe there wasn’t. But Maggie would rather risk her reputation than her life on that.

 _10am doesn’t change that Cadmus upturned your safehouse and apartment_. The words still sounded surreal. As Maggie watched her warily, Alex moved with none of the natural grace she knew, and slumped onto the floor.

“They probably fucking pounced on it the minute you vanished,” Alex said, annoyed. She knocked back her second slog of whiskey. Maggie was powerless to stop her. She wasn’t sure if she even wanted to try. “I thought the whole point of having a safehouse was what it said on the tin.”

“I don’t know how they got the coordinates,” Maggie snapped back. The only person she’d told was Kara, and it was literally impossible for _her_ to be the FBI spy. Alex hesitated for a second, apologetic, and mended the feeling by taking another swig. “I...I only told Kara.”

“You don’t remember accidentally giving a clue?”

“Give me some fucking credit, Alex, I’m a Detective—”

“You _were_ a Detective.”

“And you’re a vindictive asshole when you’re drunk,” Maggie retorted hotly. Alex raised her eyebrows at her. As if to piss her off even further, Alex necked back what must have been at least two or three glasses-worth of whiskey from the bottle until she coughed. “Believe whatever you want, Alex. You come here but you know nothing I say would ever change your mind anyway, so why _are_ you here?”

“Because I’m a vindictive asshole of a drunk,” Alex said, bowing her head mockingly. Annoyance bubbled up from Maggie’s stomach to her chest. She didn’t want to say anything to outright proclaim her innocence—she’d had enough of vouching for her integrity. And she knew J’onn would’ve told his team if he felt it appropriate. He knew more than Kara, surely. The torture, the tests, the murders...Jeremiah...

 _Shit_.

“Kara knew, and she withheld it from me,” Alex said suddenly. Her voice sounded distant in Maggie’s head. _Shit. J’onn knows about Jeremiah. He knows_ —“You told _Kara_ before you told me?”

“What?”

“You heard me—”

“Yeah, I did, and I was just checking I’d heard correctly because are you fucking insane?” Maggie snarled. Oh, Alex knew far too well how to push her buttons. Unlike Kara, whose methods of interrogation were limited to showing your cards all in one go or violently threatening the suspect, Alex was meticulously trained. Even when she was drunk and pissed and angry and lashed out at anyone or anything, it was scary how quickly her poker face would return. Alex Danvers was not cold, but being on her bad side was creating an enemy nobody would want to face. “I’m sorry my safehouse clearly wasn’t up to your standard, Alex, but if you’re pretending like Cadmus getting there first was never a risk, then you’re bullshitting. I knew the risk. I—Jesus, I told Kara because she’s _Supergirl_. She is a fucking alien.”

“I don’t care!”

“I _do_!” Maggie yelled back. “I told Kara because I know Kara can handle getting hit by a Cadmus superweapon. You can’t. Kara didn’t tell you before swooping in because she loves you, she was trying to protect you—”

“I am _sick_ of people trying to protect me—”

“I’m sick of being in this goddamn cell!”

Awkward silence clouded over them. Alex took another sip of whiskey before placing it delicately aside, at least having the decency to look as embarrassed as Maggie did. It felt too familiar. Maggie could see it on Alex’s face too. It felt like a couple’s argument.

“People are walking on eggshells around me,” Alex admitted quietly. Maggie remained silent, unsure of what to say. She’d always been the listener; the one with more secrets than desirable traits. Maybe that was why Cadmus had put her through such rigorous mental fuck-abouts. Alex would’ve stayed stronger and better within their clutches, Maggie knew, but for personal issues, often Alex shut herself off with alcohol and then she’d tiredly confess. There was not much probing needed, unlike Maggie...

“Alex...”

“J’onn always tries to politely advise me from seeing you,” Alex carried on. “I...I know I haven’t exactly been open. But—” She paused, clenching her jaw. Maggie knew what would’ve come out. _But you’re a murderer and you betrayed everyone_. She didn’t bother trying to use the window of opportunity to plea for innocence. The last thing she wanted was for Alex to know; the second-to-last thing she wanted was to see the disappointment and hollowness in Alex’s eyes every time she looked at Maggie, because Maggie had to play this game solidly. “Even Kara, Kara who defends you like she knows something...Kara looks at me like someone murdered my imaginary pet dog every time I come in here.”

“Poor Gertrude,” Maggie joked hesitantly, testing the waters. Alex chuckled softly. “They’ve got your best interests at heart.”

_Because we were in love. Because we were going to get married. Because we never really let go and here I am, a self-proclaimed traitor..._

“Do you?”

Maggie, not for the first time, failed to come up with an immediate answer. Well, no, she _had_. Of course the answer was ‘yes’. Instead, what fell out of her mouth was an indignant, “How can you even ask that?”

“You think you’re the only one who can really read someone,” Alex said blandly. “I see right through you, just as I know you see right through _me_.” It looked like a painful truth to admit, and it was a painful truth for Maggie to digest as well. Sometimes, she wondered if she should just come clean. Hurting Alex—and vice versa—seemed to be the only thing on the agenda nowadays, the only thing she was capable of doing. If hurting Alex was the price to pay for preventing Cadmus from doing the hurting, then Maggie forced herself to squash her qualms about it. “Kara knows something. She’s rubbish at keeping secrets, but she can also fly away from me. J’onn would never break. And neither will you. But there’s _something_ , and I swear, Maggie, I’ll find out.”

“ _This_ is why people are walking on eggshells around you,” Maggie argued. Lied. “Why’re you insisting on stomping around and breaking them all?”

“Because it’s my _job_ , Maggie! I don’t know _anything_ from J’onn, but Kara’s taken more hits over the past few weeks than I’d have liked. She’s my sister. I don’t care if your next sentence—” she added sharply as Maggie opened her mouth, “is that she’s made of steel. It doesn’t change the fact that _she is my sister_. And if this secret you’re all nobly or not-so-nobly, I don’t fucking _know_ anymore, is the solution, then on my life, I’m finding it.”

“Don’t put it on your life. Put it on mine,” Maggie mumbled.

“Maggie, I don’t know what’s going on—I know something has happened to you, I know Cadmus is involved, I know you’re a good person, and I know you’ve conspired with Kara over keeping me in the dark. Not such a wild guess,” Alex explained, as Maggie stiffened at the last point. “But they don’t get to hurt Kara. They don’t get to hurt _you_. Cadmus won’t know what hit them when I come for them.”

“You can’t.”

“And if I ask why...?”

“You know the answer.”

“You know me inside-out,” Alex whispered. Maggie nodded out of instinct. She could remember, so distinctly, one night in bed, and Alex had rolled over and kissed her. “ _You read me like a fucking book_ ,” Alex had said to her once. Maggie had made some lame Harry Potter joke. They’d fallen asleep, exhausted from the day, entangled, intertwined, for what they’d thought at the time would be forever. Now they sat, a transparent window splitting them, and yet... “I know your answer. You know that because of that, I’m going to start a war with them.”

“You’re a one-woman army, but you can’t be when they have an _actual army_ ,” Maggie said quickly, desperately. She could feel her pulse racing already. “You don’t know what they’re doing in their labs. You thought Metallo was bad? Imagine a hundred of them all blazing about—”

“They don’t have the resources,” Alex interrupted.

“Well, fuck it, they have _some_ resources, and by some, I mean a shit-ton,” Maggie shot back. The nerves had instantly dissolved into boiling anger, frustration that she could tell Alex nothing. She was damned if she did, and damned if she didn’t. Either way, Alex would go after them. But if Alex was in the dark about Maggie’s allegiance, though she wondered if Alex truly believed her a traitor anymore, then she was invaluable to Cadmus as a source of information on Maggie. “They are experimenting to the point of torture. They’ve got corpses wheeled about in their facilities as a result of their many methods. They’ve got the money to buy silence, influence, power, outreach, stations, weapons...They’ve got technology to a point where if you work for them, you are loyal to them ‘til the day you die. You could go anywhere, you could be repentant, you could rebel—but ultimately, if Cadmus want to terminate you, all they had to do was ensnare you in the first place.” _And I let myself be ensnared_. The implication hung over them.

“All the more reason to infiltrate them,” Alex insisted. “If we give them time to build—”

“Time? Fuck it, put that on the list—they can buy time, too,” Maggie said harshly. “Nobody needs to give Cadmus time to do shit. They’ve already done it. This isn’t a vaccination job, Alex, this is a last-ditch defib.”

“Then we’ll defib the shit out of them—”

“No, _I’ll_ defib the shit out of them—”

“ _No_ , you will _stay_ in this damn cell,” Alex warned her darkly. Maggie paused, drawing back momentarily as Alex gracelessly clambered to her feet. The whiskey was presumably dizzying her slightly, and the fact that it was _morning_. Maggie stood up in protest, though it was rather ineffective considering Alex towered over her small stature anyway. “If you leave the DEO, you’re a sitting duck.”

“Better that than a prisoner.”

“You’re _not_ a prisoner. And I’m sorry I treated you like one. I’m _sorry_. I’m sorry I feel so—” Alex balled up her fists, shaking her head. She didn’t want to say it—so Maggie didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t want to hear ‘hate’. For the sake of her sanity, she really, _really_ didn’t want to hear the word ‘love’. “I know you won’t break. But there’s a difference between can’t and won’t.”

“You’ll _force_ it out of me? Torture me?”

“No.” Alex sounded horrified at the suggestion. “No. But Cadmus got there first.”

Mindlessly, Maggie’s hand flew up as her fingers traced the base of her neck. The tiny, tiny neurofucker was implanted somewhere deep into her brain stem. She could remember Winn’s words still. The cage was somewhat of a Faraday one. And she’d remembered him nervously slipping something that looked exactly like a Fitbit to her, instructing her to wear it at all times and that he had three more in production in case it broke.

It was powered by something she couldn’t pronounce. But as she wore the silent, non-responsive black band, she only felt as if she was a tag in the system. Sometimes, she wondered if they could trace her sleep pattern or fitness levels or heart rate— _literally like a Fitbit_.

“See?” Alex’s gentle voice brought her back to reality. “That thing in your head is why I need to find them.”

“Alex, you _can’t_ —”

“Yes, I can.”

“You don’t even know what they’re planning!” Maggie shouted. She was well aware she was clutching at straws here, and Alex could see it too. It was practically painted across her petrified face. She moved closer to the transparent wall separating them. “Please. _Please_ , Alex. Even _I_ don’t know what was on some of their blueprints, but they’re not idiots. They’ve taken groups, _hoards_ , of aliens off the streets, sometimes in broad daylight—”

“And you were a part of it, Maggie, don’t fucking forget that—”

“Fine! I’m the bad guy! I’m the bad guy— _I’m_ poison—I’m the ticking time bomb! So instead of containing that explosion inside this cage of yours, send me back so I can fix—”

“You’re fucking with me if you think anyone at the DEO would genuinely send you back! Bad guy or good guy, does it matter? They tore your safehouse— _safe_ house—apart, Maggie!”

“And that’s how powerful they are! They can get anyone, anywhere, anytime! They’ll have a thousand Metallos and a hundred illegal alien fight clubs and you won’t find the police to stop them. And the police who _do_ try will get paid off or they’ll get killed by a turncloak colleague. They want the best doctors in the city with unquestionable, immovable ethics? They’ll get them and they’ll force their way into their ethics codes. Name anyone! Name anyone, and they’ll get them! Cadmus are full of monsters but also full of real people. I think that’s infinitely scarier.”

“Supergirl?” Alex challenged her.

“Supergirl!” Maggie yelled. She terrified herself with how she wished that was a stab in the dark. But she’d shot Kara, inaccurate on purpose, and it had been a near slam-dunk. If one of the bigger guys handled the cannon, or if they’d modified it... “Superman! James Olsen in his shitty get-up! Mon-El, Imra, the rest of their little fucking Kara fan-club!” She was shouting any name now, and she knew she was riling Alex up. _Rile her up, and then push her off the tracks. Make sure this train’s going nowhere_. “They’ll take out J’onn. The whole fucking DEO, why not? They got me so easy, didn’t they?” She smacked the back of her neck for emphasis, and Alex visibly winced. “Knocked me out for days and I didn’t even know, didn’t even know they were fishing about in my actual brain. Bet the suturing was a nightmare. Had the nurses sedate me 24/7 just to stop me moving about and ripping the stitches.

“One of them, I think her name was Jennifer,” she kept the ball rolling, watching as Alex’s knuckles whitened as she tightened her fists. _Add names. Make this personal._ “She was on-track to becoming a nurse. Top grades. Great sense of humour. Can’t remember her species. They just plucked her off the street. If she leaves that compound, the explosive in her neck will detonate and they’ll find another nurse. If she tries to surgically remove it, CCTV will pick it up and the explosive in her neck will detonate and they’ll find another nurse. If I displayed—and they love their terminology—‘non-adherent behaviour’—they’d trigger my implant. It’s short, it hurts like a bitch, and you remember it. You remember that pain until you forget how to behave ‘non-adherently’. They’re all fucking prisoners in there, probably watching other imprisoned people on their screens and pressing the trigger button to restrict ‘non-adherence’ because if they don’t, they’re gonna collapse too and seize. A fucking ant farm. Jeremiah tried to reassure but even he toed the line between sympathy and advice...Once it was an order that line didn’t exist anymore. You think for one second that everywhere in every big department this won’t be in motion? That you won’t find a swing vote politician controlled by Cadmus? A police sergeant? A Secret Services bodyguard? A...Alex?”

Maggie frowned.

Briefly, she wondered if she’d gone too far, if she’d been too cruel. But Alex had done and seen worse. No, this was something else.

And Maggie, the best detective in the NCPD—

Could not figure her out.

“Did you say Jeremiah?”

It was whispered so softly, so cautiously—so _dangerously_ —that even Maggie, who had been tortured and manipulated and shot and near-death a hundred times felt her heart race faster than it had ever done. But if there was one thing Maggie knew, it was not to lie to someone whose face already betrayed the fact that they’d pieced together the jigsaw. And another thing: she knew Alex Danvers, and Alex was just as good a detective as her.

“Don’t do what you’re gonna do,” Maggie said instead. Alex stiffened. “Please.”

“You supported me last time.” Alex’s voice cracked, and Maggie’s chest felt as if it was on fire. “You said it, Maggie. Ride or die.”

“You’ll _die_.”

“No. I’m finding my father.”

“Please! Alex, _please_!”

“No—no!” Maggie shot up and pounded her fists against the transparent barrier, as Alex silently, moodily picked up her belongings and stalked out of the room. Maggie yelled after her, knowing her voice was muted by the wall anyway—but it did not stop her from smacking her fists against the wall, over and over again, her thoughts and her sanity spiralling quickly. Jeremiah. Cadmus. FBI mole. Roulette. Death. “ _Alex_!” she roared in desperation, even when she’d long gone from the room. And Maggie did not stop until she saw the skin peeling from her knuckles and the blood smeared across the glass.

Well, shit.

 

* * *

 

Maggie rolled over in bed moodily. It had only been ten minutes since Alex had stormed out on her one-woman quest to find Jeremiah, and nobody came in so she could spill the beans. Once upon a time, she would’ve hopped on the back of Alex’s bike and tracked down her father without a care in the world. Her allegiance was with Alex, not the DEO. As much as everyone liked to emphasise this, Maggie knew Alex was not the DEO.

Still. Alex’s words haunted her. Kara had let slip about the briefcase. The safehouse had already been raided. Cadmus were five steps ahead. And Maggie was ten.

She could pretty much guarantee that Winn or James or Mon-El were on Maggie-watch at the moment. The CCTV camera would not stop glaring down at her, so Maggie pulled a disposable razor blade she’d taken apart days ago from her sock and pulled the covers over her. An early night for the detective, the boys would be relieved to see.

In reality, she was shitting herself. She’d done enough reading to avoid major arteries, which was why she was slicing slowly, painfully and incredibly self-loathingly across her stomach. It was dark in the cell, but she knew what she was looking for. Her safehouse may have been raided but it confirmed one thing only: Cadmus were onto her. What it did not give Cadmus was sufficient information.

That was in Maggie’s brain, and that was also in Maggie’s flash-drive. Luckily, the DEO had her, and Maggie had her flash-drive.

Agonised, she groaned, muffled by the duvet cover as her slippery hands blindly felt around for the chip she’d embedded inside her. It had seemed a clever idea at the time. Maybe she should’ve asked someone like Lena to do it for her—but at that point, she didn’t know _who_ to trust. Especially when nobody trusted her.

“This fucking _sucks_ ,” she panted, careful not to move too much. Instead...

Fuck the CCTV. Awkwardly, she hobbled over towards the light switch and smeared her bloody hand over it to switch it on. Collapsing down onto her seat, her head dipped low as she tried to squeeze the flash-drive _and_ SD card from within her—she wasn’t one for taking chances—to no avail.

Jesus fucking _Christ_. What an idiot. She’d done it with the patriotism and bravery she wanted to be heralded for, and she couldn’t even fish the fucking thing out.

Every time she pushed and delved her finger deeper into the wound, the more blood soaked into her bed and dripped onto the floor. Frankly, she wasn’t sure if she was going to make it alive anymore. Her vision was beginning to swim and what seemed like a genius idea—or at least, bait to infuriate Cadmus—was quickly going to shit.

Staggering, Maggie’s back slammed against the panic button and she closed her eyes as the room flashed red, sirens wailing...

The door exploded open, and Maggie hadn’t realised she’d sagged to the floor, near lack of consciousness, if the blurry shapes hadn’t cleared to be Winn’s worried face by the door and Eliza’s hovering over her.

“Oh my _God_ ,” Winn said unhelpfully, covering his mouth in disgust. “That is genius, but disgusting.”

“We need to get her to medical.” That was J’onn...Somewhere. “Eliza?”

“Her blood pressure’s going to be dropping quickly,” Eliza said, folding Maggie’s mattress sheet and using it to compress the wound. “It’s a pretty jagged and unpractised thing she’s done here. We need to make sure she hasn’t lost too much blood. Maggie?” she added, and Eliza’s face became as clear as glass. “Can you hear me?”

“The drives,” Maggie said, strained. “Give them to Winn. He’ll decrypt them.”

Winn nodded appreciatively at her. “Of course.”

“C’mon, sweetie. Let’s get you to the med bay.”

It didn’t take long for J’onn to come back with a stretcher, and Maggie flopped, pretty much dead-weight, onto it. The bleeding had stemmed considerably thanks to Eliza, though she knew she needed the wound stitching up. As her eyes flickered in and out of consciousness, with the boys carrying her through the DEO as slowly as possible so they did not trigger any nauseous response, Maggie couldn’t help but notice she was shackled to the metal edge of the stretcher.

“I don’t deserve this, J’onn. I’m not a prisoner.”

“It’s to keep you safe,” J’onn said softly. He cupped her cheek, and Maggie believed him. “Let’s get you back to health first, Maggie. Then we’ll talk.”

 

* * *

 

The next time Maggie woke, Winn was sitting in the corner, tapping away on his laptop. He greeted her silently with a friendly wave and smile. Trust Winn to always seem optimistic even in the face of adversity. Closer to the bed stood Kara, who was fidgeting with the IV drip of painkillers Eliza had administered to her. Thanks to a bit of charm, she’d scored a regular PCA of morphine.

“I heard Cadmus made it to the safehouse before you guys,” Maggie said, her words a little slurred. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No, Maggie. _I’m_ sorry.” Kara’s sincerity—and the fact that she was _apologising_ to Maggie—caught her off-guard. “I was too slow.”

“It was always gonna end like this,” Maggie realised. She thought of Wong, and Balewa, and how she would never really get to say goodbye to them. “I was going to die on the field and I think everyone knew that. You don’t just work for the likes of Lillian Luthor and Roulette and come out unscathed.”

Kara’s face softened. “You did.”

The heart rate monitor bleeped in the background. Maggie soaked in their clinical, pure-white surroundings and the fact that she had a cannula fitted to pump painkillers into her body every time she clicked the demand button. “I beg to differ,” she laughed.

“It’s not about that anymore, Maggie. I’m scared—we _all_ are—about you being Cadmus’ target number one if you go above ground level. If you’re seen.”

“They discovered nothing at that house other than the fact that I was snooping around,” Maggie said carefully. “For all it was worth, it was simply a collection of information that a journalist would have. Not a cop.”

“They took the briefcase, Maggie. The one you specified. They have your paperwork.”

“Paperwork,” Maggie repeated. Kara frowned, and she glanced over at Winn. “ _Paperwork_.”

“These are blueprints,” Winn whispered out of the blue. Maggie sank against her pillows, a self-satisfied grin embracing her lips. Kara, arms folded, whirled around to see what on earth he was talking about. “This—this drive—it contains notes, and notes, and notes of Roulette’s inner circle, lists of names, corrupt detectives, blueprints of the different facilities...”

“Paperwork,” Maggie said again. “Who uses pen and paper anymore, anyway?”

In that moment, Maggie was briefly afraid Winn would try to kiss her.

“Do Cadmus have these?” Kara asked softly.

Maggie grinned tiredly at her. She could feel the world spinning underneath her feet, but a faint “no” escaped her lips. Maggie was a detective, because she was fucking good at her job. If her mission was to uncover a mole, a safehouse would never exactly be safe. And so she’d taken a little inspiration from Alex’s traumatic ordeal last year, and Winn’s technological genius, and Lena’s cunning—though often unintentional.

Cadmus had what she wanted them to have. Dictaphone confessions of her suspicions: that Lena Luthor was Supergirl—something she knew Lillian would never believe—only to back it up with a load of bullshit evidence. She knew Lena would never get hurt by such accusations, but with Roulette the one running the empire, Maggie was itching to get back to L-Corp and make sure everything was okay.

‘Evidence’ she’d collected of Supergirl had been plastered across her walls, as well as a damning personal diary she’d ensured she kept unhidden. She spoke in graphic detail of how Alex believed Cadmus had apparently shot Jeremiah dead, and believed him to be. That the entirety of the DEO did. But the only way to lure Alex Danvers from the HQ was to bring Jeremiah to the DEO HQ itself...

Speaking of the headquarters, Maggie had never disclosed a location. Only _strongly hinted_ at the suggestion of underground labs at L-Corp...

No, Maggie may not have been the most cautious of people. But she was damn well good at her job. Her only hope was that they bought it. With Lillian in the picture, she hadn’t been so sure. However, as money-blindsided as Roulette often proved to be, she wondered if her point-blank, cold murder of Lena’s mother had been worth it after all.

“Cadmus has something,” Maggie explained, “But they don’t have what you have.”

“And you’re telling the truth?”

“I get you’re cautious, Kara. But I literally cut my stomach open to fish this out.”

“Unwise,” Eliza scolded, somewhere distant in the room. “Should’ve waited for me and some tweezers. Don’t try that again.”

“Spur of the moment, Mrs. Danvers.”

Thundering footsteps sprinting along the halfway outside pricked Maggie’s ears up. As if Kara could sense her change in mood, she awkwardly patted Maggie’s hand. Self-consciously, Maggie drew the covers up in the med bay.

She would never be ready. She hoped she would, one day, but often wondered just how far away ‘one day’ would prove to be. For now, her heart ached with longing and desire, and it _hurt_ because she knew it was unreciprocated, undesired, and fruitless.

Hell hath no fury like an Alex Danvers scorned, that was for sure. “I should probably go,” Winn babbled, wafting his laptop about, “I’ve got so many of these encryptions I need to break down.”

“And I...have a bus to...”

“Just go,” Maggie said in exhaustion, smiling faintly as Eliza brushed a few locks of hair away from her forehead. She peered up from her position, wincing a little as her stomach wound stung. “Uh, hey.”

Instead of anger, instead of betrayal, frustration, annoyance, or anything Maggie expected, Alex crossed the room in large strides, her face a picture of worry and fear instead. That in itself was enough to worry Maggie. But they sat in silence, with Alex pulling a chair up beside Maggie’s bed, and clasping both hands in hers.

Apologies were needed both ways, but not right now. Maggie knew Alex wanted to spill everything. But they had always been relatively in-sync. Maggie’s eyes fluttered shut momentarily, and Alex knew this was what they both wanted: peace.

So, fuck it. They deserved it for now.


	9. The Chess Master

“Apparently, there’s so much stuff on your USB drive that Winn’s practically found himself a new girlfriend trying to decrypt it all,” Alex mused. It had been just over a week since she’d thoughtlessly slashed her stomach in half in order to reveal her true loyalties. Even Kara had the cheek to call her a drama queen. Alex, instead, seemed to be on food duty. It made sense. Alex knew what food she liked and didn’t like; most likely, she would scavenge Maggie’s leftovers.

“Public service,” Maggie chortled. She eyed the vegetable lasagne in front of her. “Has this got courgettes in it?”

“Nope. Don’t worry, I’ve proofed your food.”

Maggie knew this. “Ah, so does this mean that my yoghurt is--?”

“—Blackberry flavoured and vegan, yeah. Now stop being such a diva and eat.”

Completely accidentally, though it had grown from an accident to habit now, Maggie and Alex exchanged small smiles. The quality of her dinners had grown to a point where she now suspected she wasn’t getting leftover bundles from the staff, but was on the same canteen rota as them.

The pattern went on like this for a while. Winn would occasionally peep in and ask her a few questions about passwords, decryption keys, back-up data—all the technical stuff. James was few and far between, and in the back of her mind she knew he was still going rogue with all the Guardian stuff. And it disturbed her, because she couldn’t shake the image of a dead James out of her mind. _That was Cadmus messing with your head_ , she told herself firmly. The Guardian was still alive, and still going all gung-ho on vigilante justice.

J’onn and Kara visited, but very sparsely. Kara at least had the decency (and Maggie suspected, the guilt) to keep checking up on her. The first thing both women had agreed on was to up the security—or at least have permanent eyes on—Lena Luthor. Now her mother was dead, she was the sole heir to L-Corp, and Maggie wasn’t an idiot. Lillian and Roulette’s alliance was pure business. If Lena got in the way of Roulette’s money-making schemes, then she would pay.

Maggie couldn’t let her to do that. But as she explained her theory to Kara, she got the sense that Kara was even less likely to just sit back and watch this happen.

“Two spicy bean burger meals as requested,” Alex said, shoving open the (unlocked) door to Maggie’s ‘cell’. She’d lost track of the days, but it was an unspoken formality now. Maggie knew the door and thus her escape was not prohibited. However, she had not tried to take advantage of it once. “And a six pack of San Miguel. You’ve got some coconut milk milkshake concoction in here as well. Did you threaten Winn or something?”

“Looking for tips?” Maggie teased her. She opened the bag eagerly, popping a chip in her mouth. “The milkshake’s for you. I think Winn’s making breakthroughs.”

“Food-related breakthroughs?”

“Breakthroughs from the resources I’ve given,” Maggie said, noisily unwrapping her burger. She hadn’t eaten anything like this in _so long_ —something gratuitously bad for you, and unashamed of it. Alex rolled her eyes and sipped on her milkshake. “He seems to think he owes me a favour.”

“You got a favour off him and you asked for food?”

“It’s _Winn_ , Alex. What was I gonna ask for?”

Alex, conceding, put her hands up in the air and laughed quietly. It was how most of their conversations went. Polite chatter, but just enough to cross the border of awkwardness. They mostly talked about everyone else in the DEO—about how Kara’s cardigan choices were getting more and more atrocious, and how Mon-El and Imra had settled in like the headquarters were a second home. They talked about everyone but themselves.

“So, uh, it’s nice to be out of that cell.” Maggie picked at her sweet potato fries. She’d never been great at starting conversations. “I mean, not that it _was_ a cell, but there’s only so much—”

“No, I get it,” Alex said softly. “I’m sorry. Really. It’s just...”

“Nobody trusts me.”

“That isn’t true. J’onn and Kara trust you. It’s—it’s the general workforce. Your story’s been all over the news. And if you ever got above ground, Cadmus would grab you instantly.”

“J’onn and Kara versus the world, huh?” Maggie laughed bitterly. She tried to hide the fact that she’d noticed Alex hadn’t placed herself within that highly-esteemed duo. Today, she was too tired to fight. The blood loss from her clumsy attempt to prove Alex and the rest of the DEO wrong had taken its toll. Eliza kept peering into the room, as if to make sure she was still there. “Damn. Now I know how OJ felt.”

“Winn believes you,” Alex said firmly. She reached forward, determined to take Maggie’s hand, even when Maggie weakly tried to pull away. It was getting more and more embarrassing every day. In a cell, she had to be escorted to the bathroom; here, she was peeing into some catheter device, not allowed to move. The fact that she could barely withdraw her cold, stiff hands from Alex’s warm ones ... It didn’t sit well with someone whose job was a detective, and was undercover. She was supposed to be rolling around in some dodgy car park in an all-black outfit, installing spy cameras everywhere. Instead, she was here. Alex squeezed her hand and Maggie glanced at her, her brow furrowing. “I believe you.”

Sometimes, in bed, there’d be three words Maggie always dreamt of Alex saying to her. Even after everything. _I love you_. But ever since her departure from the NCPD, and ever since being nearly instantly busted by Kara, then the DEO, Maggie’s loyalties had been tossed into the fire. Kara was shite at keeping secrets but Maggie knew her moral compass was as angelic as her face. Even if Kara was _bursting_ to tell, Maggie knew she was safe under the assumption that Kara would likely run off or fly away than say anything.

But things had changed. _I love you_ didn’t seem to matter anymore.

Well, it did. Just not like it had before. Love came with trust, and if you couldn’t trust someone, how could you love them? And as Maggie progressed with her insight into Cadmus, she found herself back-pedalling on every relationship she’d ever forged. So much so that the three words she craved from Alex had just been spilled... and Maggie wasn’t sure if she meant it at all.

“I know what it’s like to be house-bound,” Alex said, out of the blue. Maggie blinked. She wasn’t sure if it was the (incredibly strong) painkillers pumping through her body or the sedative wearing off, ready for the next bolus injection, but the swerve in conversation was violently nauseating. “Do you remember?”

Maggie blanked. “I—do I remember what?”

“When I left you in that cell, d’you remember what I said?”

“You...You said you were going to find someone,” Maggie said cautiously. She tried to prop herself up in her bed, but grogginess had truly settled in and she was beginning to find it difficult to sit up, let alone eat her requested meal. Subconsciously, her free hand traced the back of her neck, pressing ever so slightly to feel the ever-present indent of the implant, and the hasty sewing job.

_I’m still wearing my Fitbit thing. Whatever it is. Just..._

“I was out cold for pretty much a day,” Maggie said slowly. Alex frowned. _This_ was the kind of manipulation Cadmus was so good at. Why else meddle with the brain? Why meddle with the heart when it was just a muscle? Why not meddle with the neurotransmitters and the reward circuits and memory stores instead? For a horrible moment, Maggie tried to recall exactly what had happened before she’d passed out. She squeezed her eyes shut, her forehead throbbing in agony as she pictured Eliza’s fuzzy face, peering concernedly down at her...

“Maggie,” Alex mumbled, moving closer. “Maggie?”

“I’m in the DEO,” Maggie said, a little testily. Alex didn’t break eye contact, confused. “The DEO headquarters.”

“Yeah...Maggie you’ve been with us for a while.”

“I know. I’m just—you’re not gonna ask me where the HQ’s located?”

“Do you need me to do so?”

“No,” Maggie said quickly. “I—I just...” She paused, unsure of what to say. What _could_ she say? ‘ _So, hey, I’m a bit paranoid at the moment because I thought Cadmus had gotten a hold of me again and I...really can’t tell anymore. I can’t tell.’_ Instead, Maggie rubbed her eyes, closing them so she could feel, and smell, and hear. Alex’s voice was just as croaky as she remembered. And she smelled just like her body wash...

“I was gonna say,” Alex went on, perhaps realising Maggie needed some commentary, “The moment I walked out the door to find my dad, Kara knocked me out.”

Maggie stared at her.

And then she laughed. Her throat was sore from lack of use and lack of fluids, but she tilted her head back and laughed, drawing up a hacking cough. She could almost see a slow-motion replay in her mind, like some kind of 1920’s slapstick film. Her laughs died away, and Alex leant over to gently tilt some cold water into her mouth, just enough so she wouldn’t choke.

“She was trying to protect you.” It was a weak argument.

Alex sensed it. “Yeah, she could’ve flown me away or something. But no, her first instinct is to punch.”

“I did...I did wonder,” Maggie chuckled, tilting her head to the side ever so slightly. And in that moment, she felt transported back to Dolly’s, back to when everything seemed so complex yet was so light in comparison to now. She remembered what had happened that day, and the shots of whiskey she’d pounded down her until a tall badass of a Bambi walked in to find her. And she’d let Alex talk, and she’d nodded and smiled lopsidedly as she did so, as Alex’s brain worked through her mouth and she babbled and babbled...

Maggie shook herself. “I meant—” she cleared her throat. “You’ve got a plaster over your nose.”

“Yeah, she punched me in the _face_.” There was no hiding the annoyance in Alex’s tone. “Can you believe it, huh?”

“Just trying to protect you.”

“Yeah, well...”

They didn’t relight that argument. Their previous one was still fresh on their minds, and whilst Alex nursed her sore nose, Maggie silently cursed. _This is real_ , she told herself, frantically. Alex spoke and smelled like normal. Alex said things Cadmus would never have projected into her brain. _But what if they updated their algorithm? What if they’ve upped surveillance on Alex for behavioural analysis_? Maggie swallowed, racking her brains for the last time she’d been subdued and put under Cadmus’ project. How had she sussed everyone out last time?

Absently, Maggie picked at her cold fries. She had two inner voices: one was the normal one, and the other had a speakerphone for when she was about to say something really fucking stupid. Right now, she couldn’t hear over her subconscious yelling obscenities at her.

“So, uh, how’s the kid hunt?” Maggie said conversationally. To her credit, the cringe was kept internal. “I mean, the kid _search_. I don’t think _hunt_ is proper terminology.”

If Alex had been taken aback by the question, she’d done an admirable job of covering up. An admirable but not flawless one. Maggie knew Alex too well to not pick up on cues, and the way Alex’s head jerked back as if she’d just avoided a boxing jab to the face and the way her cheeks pinkened as she sputtered silently and ridiculously...

Maggie couldn’t help but smile at her. This woman. She’d bring down planets if you hurt her sister but one question about an uneasy topic rendered her near-speechless.

“Don’t they have them day care centre events?” Maggie asked not out of necessity but out of need for conversation. She’d already spent an obscene amount of mobile data looking up events nearby. “Have you thought about whether you want a boy or a girl yet? Names?”

“I—Maggie...” Alex squeezed her eyes shut. “No, I haven’t.”

Part of Maggie wanted to feel relieved. Maybe if Alex was backtracking, there was still some hope. After all, hadn’t this been the deal-breaker? Yet simultaneously, the sight of Alex being so conflicted over something as simple as wanting a boy or a girl—Maggie assumed if she adopted a girl first she’d adopt a girl later, and vice versa—then maybe there was something else.

“Just don’t get triplets,” Maggie said lightly. Her lips quirked up in a half-smile as Alex laughed. “You’d have to give them name badges.”

“You are ridiculous.”

“See? This is why it’s better for you. I would’ve named our kids One, Two and Three.”

Alex’s grin faded and she ducked her head, picking idly at the blanket covering Maggie. For a moment, she thought her joke had fallen flat until she ran the sentence over again in her mind. _Our kids. **Our**_. “Alex,” Maggie said softly, “I haven’t and I won’t change my mind.”

“I know.”

“And maybe it’s for the best,” Maggie whispered. “I mean, you get to raise some insanely good-looking kids—let’s go for one boy and one girl—and I’ll just swing by occasionally when you give Winn his Manny shift off, because you know that’s what’ll happen—” she spoke over a groaning Alex, laughing as Alex moaned into her hands ‘ _my kids are gonna grow up to be hackers_ ’, “And I’ll be the cool aunt with the exciting cop stories and when they grow up, I’ll give them tips on how to avoid curfew without anyone ever knowing.”

“Jesus,” Alex snorted, “You really thought this through?”

“What, and you didn’t?”

Alex stared at her. Fuck it. Maggie was a cop. She knew what that stare meant. _No, I hadn’t_. And maybe she’d just gotten a little carried away—it didn’t mean she wanted _kids_ , though. Shit, she had a future without those little bastards running around and pooping everywhere. But Alex had always been so elated when speaking about children than in order to carry that on, Maggie had just...she’d allowed the fantasy.

“Alex,” Maggie said quietly. She mustered all the energy she could to lean forwards a little, and clasped Alex’s violently clenched fist. They stayed there silently, with Maggie squeezing occasionally until Alex’s hand relaxed in her grasp, and their fingers interlocked. “You are gonna make a _great_ mother. You really are.”

“I just...I don’t know...”

“Either way, you’ve got a support system. You have Eliza. You’ve got the boys. You’ve got Kara...If you get _her_ a babysitter too,” she added, grinning when Alex chortled. “And you have _me_.” Alex’s head turned quickly, and if Maggie wasn’t so concerned for Alex’s welfare, she would’ve been a little offended. “I don’t care what we are or where we’re at. There’s no part of me that’ll resent you and even less that’ll resent you for wanting kids. So I’ve got your back, Danvers.”

Painstakingly, Maggie stabbed at her now-cold sweet potato fries. She couldn’t even bring herself to make eye-contact. The ridiculous level of politeness she’d forced up her throat made her want to gag. The one true fear Maggie had was Alex turning it back on her and asking if _she’d_ changed her mind about kids (the answer was _no_ ).

It felt as if Maggie had found the one topic that would confirm why they stood no chance at all.

“It’s just stressful, is all,” Alex muttered out of nowhere. Maggie nodded blankly, keeping her eyes fixed on the blanket. She was quite positive Alex was doing the same thing. “Thank you, Maggie. Really. But my support system is a Kryptonian superhero, or the Guardian, or the CEO of L-Corp...”

“Alex, you’ve been so fixated on having this kid—”

“I know. _I know_. But even—even if we were in this together, Maggie...”

“We’re not.”

“ _I know_. Maggie, I’d really intended for us to raise a child _together_.”

Maggie froze. There were countless things running through her mind, and a horrible, unbeatable sense of panic crawling up the back of her neck. She had made it pretty clear on several occasions that this was not a negotiable part of their relationship. It didn’t make Maggie feel any less shitty, but she _knew_ if she gave into Alex simply because she loved her— _so_ much—that years down the line, relationships between her and Alex and her and her hypothetical child would sour immensely.

The kid Alex chose to adopt one day would be luckier without her. “You nearly died,” Alex murmured. The chair legs screeched against the floor as Alex shuffled closer towards the side of the bed. Maggie did not have the energy or the urge to pull her grasp away. In fact, she squeezed Alex’s comforting hand back, embracing the warmth around her hand, an unspoken promise that Alex Danvers would always have her back. Maggie closed her eyes. _And I’ll always be your rock_.

“I’ve nearly died plenty of times,” Maggie said as offhandedly as she could. “Lucky they give you them bulletproof vests, huh?”

“Maggie.”

“I know. But you can’t berate me. I don’t know what happened at the safehouse with Cadmus but you came into my cell smothered in blood. I tried to ask Kara because I knew I’d get some tearful confession from her. Instead, all I got was a coolly delivered warning, with tears in her eyes, yeah, about how I should treasure my time with you instead of taking it for granted like a, and I quote, ‘selfish, thoughtless coward’.”

Maggie quirked an eyebrow at the look of pure shock on Alex’s face. She’d had time to process Kara’s sudden turn enough so that she could find the situation funny, but the sheer embarrassment and second-hand apology scribbled all over Alex’s face, and the way her eyebrows quirked together in sorrow...She couldn’t help but laugh, provoking a brief coughing fit. As Alex dipped her head closer, placing a hand on her shoulder, Maggie shook her head.

“It’s fine,” she promised. “Just a dry throat.”

“You wouldn’t be in this position if we’d trusted you,” Alex said. “Then you would’ve just given me the flash drive.”

“Wrong.” Maggie shook her head at Alex’s frown. She enjoyed catching Alex off-guard but this time she was being deadly serious. “Alex, someone within the authorities—I don’t know which authority—be it the NCPD, the FBI or the DEO itself—they’re reporting back to Cadmus. Even if it were just you and I in the room, I would’ve kept that drive hidden safely.”

“Yeah, well, don’t go slashing your stomach without calling for a little help first.”

“Noted.”

For the briefest of moments, the beam they shared was full of understanding and empathy. It faded quickly, though. It was still understanding; it was still empathetic. But they weren’t smiling anymore.

“You realised before me,” Alex admitted. “About not wanting to be a mom.”

“No. _No_ ,” Maggie said quickly. “That was _my_ decision. It shouldn’t influence yours.”

“But it does. Maggie, even if we’re not romantically involved, you’re still my friend. My closest friend. I have an alien for a sister, for Christ’s sake. How would I _ever_ raise a kid in that kind of environment?”

“Take your time—”

“I have. The problem was, I didn’t take my time before. And I’m sorry,” she added sincerely. Maggie nodded meekly, unsure of what to say. Instead, she simply continued to lace their fingers together. _We’re not romantically involved_ , Alex had just hastily blabbed out a few seconds ago. And so Maggie closed her eyes and tried not to think of where she knew she was inevitably heading. “Could you imagine, both of us, in the line of duty? And one of us gets hit? And what about my sister? What if she’s injured?

“I don’t want to come back from work one day and deliver that grim news to my son or daughter. I don’t want to give you the burden of having to do it for me if it happens to me. Or, God help us, if Kara got hurt...”

“Alex, maybe just...Try and stay away from thinking about _us_?”

Yeah, it was as painful to say as it was to think about it—or probably to read back in the furious diary entry she’d make later. Maggie looked sheepishly up from the sheets to Alex’s crestfallen face. Okay—that was not fair. They hadn’t discussed their relationship ever since they officially broke up. So officially, they were not together. And the last thing Maggie wanted, just in case Alex turned around and decided it was a mistake again, was to light a candle of hope only for real-life to blow it out.

“Think about it.” Another thing: Maggie Sawyer did not back down and was stubborn to a fault. If she had accidentally let something slip, she would ignore it or she would milk it like a cow. “Try Tinder or something. What’s the worst that could happen? You’re young; you’ll meet people who want kids too. You’re hot, single, you own a firearm, leather jackets, tell lame jokes, play pool...”

A beat passed, and Alex’s face crumpled. Maggie’s mouth went dry. She knew how to comfort Alex outside of a fucking cell; she knew how to hold her, sway her gently as the tears soaked through her shirt, until her heaving sobs eased into sniffles. Separated by the partition, Maggie could do nothing but watch helplessly as Alex hid her face behind her hands, crying.

“Alex…” Maggie bit her lip. Alex wouldn’t look up. She had never been big on showing off her emotions—she didn’t imagine today would be any different. Especially with her. “Alex, you’ll be an _amazing_ mom.”

“You know…I’ve looked after people my _entire_ life. I—I’ve never had…”

“That’s what’ll make you great, Alex. You’ve done this your whole life.”

They sat in awkward silence, with Alex’s head still hung low. A billion thoughts raced through Maggie’s mind, though two were very clear. Firstly, she knew she was right: Alex would make a fantastic mother. Secondly: if Alex was to spend her entire life fighting and looking after other people, who would look after _her_?

 

* * *

 

“Vasquez, I’ve lost eyes on Maggie Sawyer’s room.”

Vasquez looked up from her computer screen. She did not glance across at the agent addressing her first; she looked over at Alex Danvers, who’d been stalking their work like a cheetah hunting for prey. Alex gave her the briefest of shrugs.

Unsure of what to do, Vasquez opened and closed her mouth like a goldfish. Upset, angry or whatever, Agent Danvers never let it affect her work. Maggie Sawyer was not a prisoner. Everyone knew this. Vasquez liked to think of her as a distant friend. A few times, she’d worked alongside Maggie and the NCPD. They’d shared pleasantries, but that was about it. Nothing about Maggie screamed terrorist.

Agent Hunter asked her again, and this time, Alex intervened. “I wouldn’t worry too much,” she said hollowly, “Detective Sawyer isn’t the enemy. Cadmus is. Leave it for now. It’s late—get some sleep.”

 

* * *

 

“Woah, _woah_! Guns down! Guns _down_!”

Everyone froze as J’onn’s voice boomed over them. Agents stood stock-still, their guns still pointed at a non-handcuffed Maggie, flanked either side by him and Supergirl. Maggie exhaled deeply, feeling more of a prisoner now than she’d ever felt in her entire ‘captivity’ within the DEO.

Her heart thudded violently against her ribcage as the tension thickened like smog. Then it all seemed to just…diffuse into nothing. Maggie unclenched her fists as Supergirl—Kara—put a comforting hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. It didn’t do much for her, but Maggie supposed she would take what she could get. If Kara of all people believed in her and vouched for her, then maybe these agents would not be so difficult to tide over.

“Maggie Sawyer isn’t to leave the premises,” she heard J’onn say in the background. She’d blanked everything out, mostly, her eyes scanning the familiar once-home of her investigations. “But she isn’t to be treated like a prisoner, either. This isn’t Fort Rozz.”

“Yes sir,” the agents replied in unison.

“Good. Now…”

Maggie ignored him and trudged over to Winn’s computer. The guy was so immersed in whatever he was doing that his fingers flew over the keyboard at the speed of light, his brow furrowed in concentration. She could hear murmurs around her, but she didn’t care. She’d also noticed that Supergirl had kept a respectful distance as well.

She already knew what everyone was thinking. Why release her now? Was there some ulterior motive? Why hadn’t Agent Danvers been told? What would she _do_ , if Alex walked in? Maggie caught Vasquez’s curious eyes and nodded respectfully, feeling a little cold when Vasquez immediately returned to her work. If she wasn’t a prisoner, then she felt like a fucking STI.

“Having fun?”

Winn nearly fell off his seat when he saw her. “Shit!” His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Maggie—hey, you—you look…”

“Crap?”

“Tired,” Winn said honestly. Maggie offered him a small smile. All morning, she’d been treated to Kara praising her about how healthy she looked and how awesome it was to see her in better shape, but Maggie’s head had never felt so fucked with in her entire life. She knew she had to see Eliza at least, to sort out this Fitbit device Winn had designed for her. But even though each meal had clearly been designed to meet Maggie’s nutritional needs (apparently Kara had taken all the Oreos), there had been no prescriptions for her non-existent sleep, or sky-high anxiety. The nauseating feeling of knowing that _anything_ could trigger a fatal blow-up of her neuro-implant made her feel sick.

At least Winn could see it. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

“I didn’t mean it like that—”

“I know what you meant, Winn. And I agree.” Maggie pulled up a chair and scooted up next to him. Winn was easy. He was uncomplicated, slightly offbeat and awkward, but he had a huge heart. Not once had Winn judged her, and idly, Maggie wondered if he ever suspected her of being guilty. When even J’onn, who could read minds, walked on eggshells around her, and James Olsen, the honourable best buddy of Superman’s, looked at her as if she’d shot a kid, Winn had been the last person Maggie expected to trust so inherently.

Kara’s trust, she’d gained completely accidentally. And Alex…Alex had taken time, and Maggie still wasn’t sure if Alex _completely_ trusted her, but it was better than nothing.

“Seriously, you’ve gifted me with a lifetime of work,” Winn said, eyes still on his screen. “How much fucking data did you pull from Cadmus?”

“As much as I could,” Maggie confessed. She saw familiar blueprints and designs flash open on Winn’s screen. “I didn’t have time to second-guess. I just cleansed it.”

“Well, you’re a good cleaner, Sawyer.”

Maggie laughed, and leant a little closer. “And the side-project?”

She saw Winn’s fingers pause against the keyboard. Out of the corner of her eye, Supergirl was stood in the middle of the DEO space, arms folded. Maggie was not a genius, but she knew Supergirl’s eyes were on her. Careful not to move too quickly for fear of tearing out her stitches (and being the subject of Eliza Danvers’ wrath), Maggie stared intently at his computer screen. Her palm remained open, underneath the desk.

“Kara has the other,” Winn said quietly. “Um. Here.”

She felt a USB stick drop into her palm and she balled it up into a fist, quickly shoving her hands in her pockets. “Thanks, Winn.”

“Maggie,” he said desperately when she pulled away, standing up slowly. Yeah, she wasn’t quite as proficient in the medical area. The gash across her stomach would take time to heal, and time was not a commodity on their side. Out of friendship, and out of loyalty in the one area she never thought she’d gain it from, Maggie waited patiently as Winn wrung his hands together nervously. She wanted to tell him to just spit it out—but this was Winn. He’d create a website from scratch quicker than he could utter a sentence. “Just please—”

“Don’t hurt anyone,” she finished for him, somewhat glumly. She’d been hearing this phrase over and over for the past few days. “I know, Winn. These are your friends. They’re mine, too.”

“ _You’re_ my friend, too.” If Winn’s level of awkwardness hadn’t already smashed a record, Maggie was sure his head was about to explode. “I was about to say _please take care of yourself_.”

 _Oh_. “Oh.”

“I know it’s happening now. Kara’s got one of the videos, and you’ve got yours. To upload and edit them, I had to look at them. I don’t know the story, Maggie, but please. _Please_ come back. If not for your friends and colleagues here, at least for…Well… _Her_.”

Maggie turned around so quickly she dizzied herself as Alex strolled into the room. She hadn’t noticed anything but she was already chatting avidly with J’onn. She had about a thousand folders tucked under her arm.

Briefly, Maggie touched the base of her neck again. She could still feel the implant. She’d already been presented with three replacements or back-ups in case Winn’s Fitbit invention broke or got stolen, but it was unlikely. It was made of some strange alloy she’d never heard of. And she wondered why she was still thinking about it—but how could she _not_? Winn’s blocker technology was impressive, but it wasn’t exactly embedded into her brain stem.

Cadmus’ techniques were being suppressed but that thing was still _inside her_ , and it wasn’t going to disintegrate. Yes, Eliza and Winn and Alex had been working countless hours to try and combat whatever it was Cadmus had done, but they were working on a suppressant, not a cure. Maggie dreaded to think of how many others had the same implant embedded into their heads.

 _You’re not there anymore,_ Maggie thought to herself. She closed her eyes and thought of last night, of how hush-hush everything had been when—

“Maggie?” Winn’s concerned face crept into her line of vision. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m just…”

“Contemplating where you’re gonna buy me lunch in a few weeks’ time?”

Maggie took one look at Winn’s stupid grin, and his half-baked effort to lighten the mood. They smiled at each other instead, awkwardly shaking hands. Winn was not someone she’d expected Kara to let into their secret—their ‘new’ secret—but his expertise was proving vital. And if they embraced, it would just look _odd_. She decided that if she’d get out of this, she’d buy him a year’s worth of lunches.

“I’ll come back.”

“You better do.”

Maggie clapped her hand on his shoulder and then carefully made her way down the steps, wincing with every step she took. It felt as if she was jerking around with her stitches, but the wound had been so deep and messy that it had been a miracle Eliza had even managed to do anything at all. Supergirl nodded at her, but Maggie didn’t really pay attention. Instead, she waved meekly as Alex called her name in surprise, rushing over to her.

“Hey,” Alex said, a little breathlessly. “I heard.”

“Yeah…A bit of freedom for now.” Maggie chewed on her lip. The days of Alex rushing to her and grabbing her face and kissing her had gone. The partition between the cell and the outside didn’t exist anymore, and Alex’s wall of defence had crumbled long ago. But love did not conquer all, otherwise Maggie would’ve gotten down on one knee right there and then.

And she still had a job to do.

“A gift,” Maggie said instead, taking the USB Winn had given her and placing it on Alex’s open palm. “Don’t plug it in until I’ve been let out of DEO custody.”

“Let out?” Alex stared blankly at her. Between the USB and the sudden freedom, Maggie could _hear_ the cogs whirring in Alex’s brilliant mind. All this time, J’onn had been insistent on keeping Maggie caged for protection. He’d been backed by Kara and Maggie herself. But now?

Maggie scratched the back of her neck, silently chastising herself. Freudian slip. “They’ll prop me up in a safehouse or something,” she lied. _Yeah, and your last one had been so invisible…_ “I can’t stay underground forever, Alex. I still have a job to finish.”

“Delegate it down!”

“Not this one,” Maggie said firmly. Alex’s shoulders deflated. “I’m not charging in alone, though. I’ve got back up.”

“I haven’t heard anything.”

“Not…” _Not you_. Maggie swallowed. She didn’t really need to verbalise anything for Alex to understand what she meant. Alex wasn’t her back-up; she didn’t want her to be. They’d been partners and they’d watched each others’ backs in cases, but this was different. This was something she’d never intended to involve anyone in, but then Kara had yanked her to safety and the truth…

“Whatever it is, Maggie, you’re not doing it without me,” Alex butted in indignantly. “Is that why you’re being ‘let out’ of DEO custody? So you can go back up and get yourself killed?”

“Have a bit of faith, hey?”

“You don’t need to go rogue! We trust you. We all do! So—please—”

“Trust me.” Maggie stepped forwards, and curled Alex’s fingers so she clenched a fist over the USB. She could feel Alex’s hands shake for fear of the unknown, and Maggie nodded to herself, slowly. This wasn’t what she’d planned. She closed her eyes. _Liar_ , she said to herself. She hadn’t planned anything at all. “Please.” She felt as if the entire DEO was watching them. Alex, completely fixated on her but so confused, didn’t seem to give a shit. So Maggie stopped giving one, too. Squaring her jaw, she wrapped her free hand around Alex’s waist and pulled her into a tight embrace.

And Maggie knew, as soon as she’d done it, Alex’s mental stopwatch had started. It was too vague which meant Maggie was hiding something; it was too strangely emotional to simply be a hug between friends—or even ex-lovers. The USB was still pressed against both of their chests like it held all the answers—and it _did_ —but Alex wouldn’t be able to access the file without a decryption key. Maggie knew the obvious suspect was Winn, but he was just the delivery boy. Alex was no fool, but neither was Maggie. She knew that Alex would plug that USB drive into the nearest computer as soon as Maggie was out of sight.

Alex still wore the same musky perfume she always did. Maggie still slotted into her taller, slender body the way she’d always done. Everything felt the same, yet everything had so drastically, horrifically changed. The dizzying could-have-beens overwhelmed Maggie as she buried her face into Alex’s shoulder.

People usually said: “we love each other—isn’t that enough?”

Maggie hadn’t known love for a long time. Not just from exes, but certainly from her parents, too. Yet, as she held who she knew was always going to be the love of her life, she hated that love was not invincible.

“You made me a better person.” Maggie’s voice was muffled against Alex’s shoulder and she was _glad_. Glad Alex wouldn’t hear the crack in Maggie’s resolve. Alex stiffened, and Maggie clung on tighter. “You’re my best partner, Alex. In more ways than one.”

“Maggie…what…”

“Promise me you’ll trust me.”

“ _Maggie_ —”

“ _Please_. I haven’t asked you for anything like this before. But I’m begging you now.”

“What’re you gonna do?”

Maggie hesitated, pulling back. She could feel Alex’s hands resting on her shoulders, slowly, defeatedly sliding down her arms. She’d already gone over the plans a million times. And it had been unanimously agreed that Alex would not let her complete her mission if she knew. She smiled hesitantly, that same dimpled, understanding smile she’d given when Alex had nervously come out to her at the bar. Oh, Alex was more than competent of taking down ten international crime lords and a cyborg invasion alone if she wanted, but this had always been Maggie’s mission, and this had always been Maggie’s mess to create and fix. Nothing was airtight. They had something, though, and that was always better than nothing.

“I’m gonna finish this.”

 

* * *

 

“Don’t be so nervous.”

Lena froze at the familiar sound of Roulette’s voice. Laced with poison; smooth like velvet. Deceptively charming, and ruthlessly calculating. The clickety-clack of her heels was the only thing that gave any indication as to Roulette’s proximity. She barely knew where they were. Some underground, grimy-as-shit…

“You weren’t followed?” The lights flickered on, and Lena blinked, momentarily dazed by the brightness and unnecessary spectacle of it all. As her vision cleared, she could see a sophisticated office-like set-up. Desktops were dispersed around the room, and there was a giant screen directly in front of her.

Lena shoved her hands into her coat pockets, cold. “No. I might’ve revamped L-Corp, but years growing up with the Luthors—especially my mom—taught me the skill of evasion.”

“Not even by your running buddy, Supergirl?”

“After she got my mother killed? I don’t think so. Loyalty isn’t a strong suit for me.”

“Talk about shooting yourself in the foot,” Roulette laughed easily. “If loyalty isn’t your thing, then why should I trust you?”

Lena smiled humourlessly at her. If Roulette was going to try and power-play her, she’d slap the bitch with her own set of rules. Slowly, she studied her surroundings. It was skanky, to say the least. And the longer the silence stretched, the slower her pulse became. Her hands were no longer rattled, and she did not face Roulette with nerves. Rather, she faced her with an offer. Leverage.

That was her goal anyway. “My mother was always the scientist,” Lena began idly. Roulette raised an eyebrow, as if to say: ‘ _so what?_ ’ “Truth is, I’m better.”

“Your mother was on the verge of completing the near-impossible—”

“And I’m here to finish it.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, and I’m doing that by bringing you the first step.” Lena plucked the USB from her pocket and the classified file she’d stuffed in her bag. Neither woman made the attempt to get any closer, fearing a trap. Lena had never been particularly _excellent_ at reading people, but if Roulette was playing coy, then she was about as much of a façade as Lena herself.

Lena scoffed. “Go through this when you have the chance,” she told Roulette. “The USB drive will contain images of Detective Maggie Sawyer in my custody—as a hostage. The file includes finished blueprints and surgical methods of stabilising the kryptonite I assume is in your possession, and how to implant it within someone’s chest. Safely. Stably.”

There was a moment when Roulette stared at her so incredulously that maybe she believed it was too good to be true. And yes, it _was_ too good to be true. But nonetheless, Lena tossed the drive and the file onto the nearest desk and stood straight, jutting her jaw out defiantly.

“You’re going to take those items, and you’re going to realise I’m right,” Lena carried on, taking advantage of Roulette’s stunned silence. It wasn’t rare you ever caught someone like Roulette on her back foot—but Lena reminded herself that she was the same person who’d rigged the Medusa virus into something inert. “This—” she threw another item onto the same nearby desk, “is a burner phone. The only number on that cell is mine. I will have immunity from Cadmus, and you will let me finish my mother’s work.”

“How do I know you haven’t got the DEO’s gun to your head in doing this?” Roulette said suspiciously.

“A street-peddling, simple detective managed to infiltrate the DEO—”

“She got caught.”

“I’m not her. I’m a Luthor. And if you want to carry on your lukewarm work with Cadmus’ current arsenal of weapons, then you can destroy what I’ve given you. But if you want to consult with the one person who actually _knows_ how to create an army immune to Supergirl, you will take those files, and you will call me in the next twenty-four hours about the next step. Goodnight, Roulette.”


End file.
